


Words fall through me and always fool me

by jonsasnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mostly Modern AU, Some Angsty Angst, Tumblr Prompts, a lot of fluff, and the occasional painful one shot bc yolo right, galactic princess sansa, hunter jon, jonsa, lots of meddling robb because happy carefree ALIVE robb is my jam, meddling robb, probably, soldier jon, student jonsa, supernatural jonsa, tv stars au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: A collection of JonSa prompts. Will continue to add as I go along.1 - Running away together. Sort of.2 - Mafia AU3 - Supernatural AU aka Hunter!Jon4 - Blind date AU5 - Dystopian space opera AU6 - What happens when Jon and Sansa break up [multiple POVs]7 - Overprotective Jon and Gendrya8 - TV Stars AU9 - Dat painful AU Idk why I wrote it10 - Sharing a bed AU [modern]11 - Locked in a library AU12 - Missing Sansa AU13 - Sharing a bed AU [canon-divergence]14 - YouTube Star Sansa AU15 - New Girl AU16 - Coffeeshop AU17 - Assassin AU





	1. Run With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa run away together – well not together but at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come request prompts from me @ jonsasnow on tumblr :)))))

They’re not exactly running away _together_ but they _are_ running away at the same time. It’s semantics, really, and a hell of a coincidence considering they’re hardly even friends. Except somehow they’re on the same train heading to London and Sansa feels it’d be weirder to _not_ sit with him when they’ve already made eye contact. She settles down into the seat beside him and drops her duffel bag on the ground at their feet.

At first, neither of them speak; neither of them even look at each other but there’s a current of awareness where their shoulders don’t quite touch. It’s the problem with Jon Snow and one she’s had since she was thirteen and starting to really notice boys in a more _sexual_ manner. It’s hard not to. The simple truth is he’s hot. Even when she was thirteen and he was fifteen, he was hot. Scrawny, a little awkward but with unruly curls and beautiful full lips. His quiet broody manner only made him that much more attractive to people, and although Sansa never particularly _liked_ him, she couldn’t help noticing either.

Older now at twenty-one, Jon is broad and solid and warm. His eyes have softened over the years. There’s less brooding but more contemplative silences, which Sansa thinks is actually worse. It makes him look mature and confident. Sansa’s a sucker for confident men.

But it all begs the question of _why_ he’s on this train with her. She has to ask. She’s observant, knowing better than most when to speak and when to keep silent, but Jon is Jon and they’ve always had a mutually antagonising relationship.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not following you,” is what he answers instead, so she snorts. He must take this as disbelief because he turns a little to glance at her. “I’m not.”

“I _know_ you’re not. Just answer the question, Jon.”

He opens his mouth quickly as if to complain but then decides better, thankfully. “Robb is thinking of following this girl he just met to Peru after we graduate. I said it was a bad idea and he’s a moron and he told me to fuck off.”

“He is a moron,” Sansa says in agreement. “But doesn’t mean you have to run away from him. You two have had worse fights.”

“He told me that just because I’m too scared to fall in love doesn’t mean he is and that maybe I’d be more sympathetic if I stopped using your family as a crutch for my failings in the love department.” Jon’s quiet after that and Sansa can only stare in horrified silence. Her brother is an ass. He’s rash and reckless, and oftentimes acts on his emotions far more than he should, but this is low even for him.

“And so you’re running…”

“I’m going to visit my father,” Jon says with a shrug. “He’s been asking me to come down for years now and I always say I have work or school. But… Robb’s right. I need to… I should go see my family.”

Sansa wants to tell him they’re not his family, that a man who claimed to be Jon’s biological father after his mum died when he was seventeen doesn’t get to hold the title of family, and that the Starks are his family. But she doesn’t because that seems too personal. They’re not really friends and it feels like overstepping.

Thankfully, Sansa doesn’t get a chance to ruminate over what to say because Jon turns the question back onto her.

“I told my mum I wanted to drop out.” Sansa sighs, feeling weary again just remembering the fight from only an hour or so ago. She could elaborate but she doesn’t quite feel up to it. To Jon’s credit, he merely nods and turns back to the book he has in his hand.

+++

The last thing Jon bloody needs is to be sitting on a six-hour train journey to London with Sansa Stark but that’s where his life is at right now. If it was any of the other Starks, he’d be less antsy but this is Sansa and he’s always antsy around her. It’s worse now that he knows she wants to drop out of university but not the why. He can kind of guess though. Ned Stark having a heart attack two weeks before Christmas is not really the wholesome family surprise the Starks were hoping for when they all came home for the holidays. It comes at an even worse time when only two months before that Sansa gets involved in a mugging gone wrong and ends up in the hospital.

Jon has always had a strained relationship with the eldest Stark daughter but he had never felt such anger and despair in all his life. The thought of losing her had been so profound it took his breath away. It shouldn’t, he’d told himself then, because Jon lost his mum when he was seventeen and he knows about pain. Except this pain is worse and he couldn’t figure out why for the longest time. It’s stupid now in retrospect to not see the signs. The way her smile never fails to make him feel like he’s _home_ when he doesn’t even know where home is most of the time. The way she laughs at him when he’s being especially obtuse, and instead of being aggravated by it, it just makes warmth spread through him like some kind of internal lava system. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever done, falling in love with Sansa Stark, and it’s going to kill him one day.

But that’s exactly why Jon needs to get away from the Starks. Robb’s comments had really cemented it for him that his failing love life is _because_ he spends every sliver of free time he has with the Starks in the hopes that Sansa will be there, and considering she is _never_ going to return his feelings, it’s really the most unhealthy thing he can do.

But of course as luck would have it, when Jon finally gathers the good sense to leave and maybe connect with his estranged father, Sansa turns up on the same train with a lot more baggage than she has stuffed under their seats. She’s the strongest person he knows. She’s the one that got him through his mum’s death and to see her so fearful of living her life even if she won’t say it makes his heart ache.

They’re an hour into the journey and Sansa’s had her earphones in the entire time. Her head keeps nodding back and forth as she drifts in and out of sleep. It’s adorable but she looks uncomfortable, so Jon sucks up the nerve to just tap her on her shoulder. She startles, blinks the sleep from her eyes, before realising it’s him.

When she pulls one bud from her ear, he says, “you can lean on me.”

“Huh?”

“For sleeping,” Jon clarifies because he’s not really that smooth, ever. “You can lean on me to sleep. If you want. That is.”

“Oh,” Sansa says and she gives him a sleepy smile. “Okay.” She doesn’t for a few minutes but then finally, her head lolls onto his shoulder, copper hair tickling him. It’s kind of perfect even if they’re both running away from their problems.

+++

When Sansa wakes up, she finds herself tucked into Jon’s side, her head resting against his chest as his arm wraps protectively around her. It’s so intimate she immediately jumps back as much as she can in her seat. It jars him awake and she feels guilty at the look of puppy dog confusion on his face. Sansa doesn’t know why she was so frightened by the contact; it wasn’t as if she didn’t like it. Maybe it’s the fact that she did like it so much and that it’s the first time she wakes up from a dreamless sleep.

“Sorry,” Jon says, voice gruff from sleep. He rubs the back of his neck to ease the crick probably there. “There was a guy, uh… leering at you. I thought I’d… If he thought you were my girlfriend, I thought he’d stop and move away, which he did. And now that I’m saying it out loud, I realise how bloody sexist that sounds, right? Like just because he thinks you belong to me or something… which you don’t! It’s just… well, the world is a shitty place and I didn’t want some guy leering at you while you were trying to sleep.”

He’s _adorable_ is all Sansa can think at first, the story completely slipping past her consciousness. Jon isn’t much of a speaker. He’s not like the guys she knows at university who love to hear themselves talk. Jon prefers to speak when it’s necessary and make small quips at opportune moments but rambling Jon? She’s never met him before and she sort of likes him.

“It’s okay,” Sansa says, placing a hand on his forearm. “It’s stupid that you have to do that at all but I get it.”

Jon nods and turns his gaze down to where her hand is still resting on his arm. She pulls back and flushes. God, she hates how much he affects her. It’s not just that he’s impossible to read but her body’s reaction to him is entirely inappropriate for a man who is supposed to be like family to her.

Once she can feel the warmth starting to dissipate from her cheeks, Sansa braves speaking again. “We’re used to it, you know? I think we learn from day one that as much as we want to stand up for ourselves and demand the respect we deserve, we have to be able to see the signs too, to know when our safety’s at risk.” She tilts her head away so she doesn’t have to see him watching her but it’s futile when she can feel his eyes on her. “Even then, sometimes it doesn’t even matter how cautious we are.”

His hand finds hers. It’s a gentle, tentative touch and Sansa turns her hand quickly before he can move way so she can grip him tightly. “I’m not like Arya. I’m not very brave.”

“That’s not true,” Jon tells her firmly, squeezing her back. “You’re brave, Sans. You always have been.”

She snorts because it’s so completely false. He doesn’t get it. No one gets it and that’s what hurts the most. It’s hard to explain to someone the why’s of your decisions when you don’t even really know yourself so you hope and you pray that there’s someone out there who knows you well enough to just _understand_ without you having to say a word. When there isn’t that person, it’s like your whole life just shatters and you feel more alone than ever. That’s how Sansa feels right now. That’s how she’s felt for over two months now.

“I’ve always had my life planned,” Sansa continues because she doesn’t know how to stop now that she’s begun. “Go to school, become a doctor, marry a successful businessman and have 2.5 kids somewhere in London. That’s my plan. That’s always been my plan.” She laughs but it’s without humour. “It’s a stupid plan.”

“It’s not stupid. Everyone needs a plan.”

“No, it is,” Sansa insists. “I… Do you know why I wanted to be a doctor, Jon?” When he shakes his head, she answers for him. “Because it would look good. Not because I wanted to help people. I just liked the idea of being able to say that I’m a doctor at dinner parties. And it didn’t even matter who I married. I just wanted someone who looked good on paper, to fit with my lifestyle.”

She chances a glance at Jon then to see him studying her. It’s not disgust or even disappointment; it’s that strange, unnerving contemplative look that makes her feel naked and exposed.

“That’s why I didn’t like you for a long time,” Sansa admits when she can’t stand the way he’s watching her anymore. “You didn’t fit into the plan. You weren’t the charming white knight I wanted. You were moody and sullen. You were the opposite of it.”

Jon’s lips twitches. “I know.”

“What?”

“Sans, you’re a lot of things but you’re not subtle about it,” he chuckles softly. “Why do you think _I_ hated you for so long? I thought you were a spoiled, naive little princess.” He nudges her shoulder with his. “But you changed my mind.”

“How?” she asks, disbelieving.

“My mum’s funeral.” Jon slips his hand from her grip to rub his eyes and Sansa is a little disappointed by the lack of contact. But he’s talking again and she doesn’t have time to dwell on why she’s so disappointed, which is probably for the best. “You sat with me all night arguing with me about Shakespeare of all things and it was honestly… For awhile, I could pretend nothing else existed. It was nice.”

“You look like you needed it.”

“I really did,” he affirms, reaching out to take her hand again. “You’re not that girl anymore, Sans. And you’re not naive if you like to believe the good in people. That’s not a weakness of character.”

“But my plan _was_ stupid.”

“It was.”

Sansa can’t help laughing at his indulgent little smile and she feels lighter than she has in too long. They lapse into a companionable silence for awhile and it’s nice, _easy_ to be here with Jon. This surprises her, yet there’s a part of her that feels like this is familiar too.

“Jon?”

“Mhmm?” he murmurs as he returns his focus back on her.

“I’m terrified of being alone,” she says softly. “Since… since it happened, I just hate it. I’m terrified all the time and I’m always alone at university.” Her eyes sting and she wills herself not to cry. “That’s why I want to move back. But I can’t tell my mum that because… it’s not just that. I just don’t want to be a doctor. I did it for all the wrong reasons.”

Jon pulls his hand back to wrap around her shoulders. He tugs her tightly into his side. “It’s okay to be terrified and it’s okay to not know what you want to do.” She feels him kiss her hair softly and in that moment, she feels safe. It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep after that.

+++

 **Jon:** She confided in me and fell asleep in my arms. That’s good, right?

 **Ygritte:** You’re a bloody idiot.

 **Sam:** Ignore her. She’s just jealous. It’s a good sign! She trusts you!

 **Ygritte:** I’m jealous because my ex-boyfriend is an incompetent flirt? Nope.

 **Jon:** But I got you, didn’t I?

 **Ygritte:** I made the first move, Jon. I couldn’t wait around for you forever now, could I?

 **Sam:** Actually, she’s right. You were pretty bad at flirting.

 **Jon:** You guys aren’t helping me at all.

 **Jon:** She’s waking up. Don’t text back!

He quickly pockets his phone and schools his features so it doesn’t look like he’s been freaking out for the past forty minutes while she’s been asleep in his arms. Of course the first fifteen minutes had been him getting sappy over how _right_ she felt there but she didn’t need to know that either.

“Afternoon,” he greets her with a tentative smile. She smiles back and nuzzles into his chest, which does too many wonderful things to his body, including one very inappropriate thing he’s trying desperately not to think about.

“Sorry,” she murmurs against him. “I fell asleep on you again.”

Jon clears his throat. “It’s fine. You seemed tired.”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she says, shrugging, though her movements are limited with how she’s pressed so tightly into him. Not that he’s complaining.

“Do you get much sleep most nights, Sans?” Jon can’t help asking because it doesn’t look like she does. By the way she nuzzles even more into his chest, he can guess the answer. “You should see a GP or your student centre or something. They might be able to help.”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m… I can manage this. I’m fine.”

He wants to argue with her but he decides to hold his tongue. There’s a stiffness in the way she said it that he recognises. It’s usually how most of their fights start and he’d rather not ruin this new fragile development in their relationship. Jon can pick a fight with her later about this when he’s done enough research into how he can actually help her. Right now, he knows she’ll just dismiss him offhand. She’s always been too stubborn for her own good. It’s a Stark trait.

“Are you excited to see your dad?” Sansa asks through a yawn. It’s so bloody cute he has a hard time registering her question but when he does, he stiffens. She notices that too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not,” he assures her. “And no. I don’t really want anything to do with him truth be told. But my mum asked me to forgive him before she died so I’m going to try.”

“Oh. That’s… harsh.”

Jon laughs and he shakes his head. “Yeah, it is.” An idea occurs to him then that is probably his dumbest one yet, aside from falling in love with Sansa, so of course he’s going to go through with it anyways. “Are you going back to your flat?”

“Yeah,” Sansa sighs. “I was thinking of finding a job somewhere. I don’t know.”

“Right,” Jon nods. “But… you could come stay with me. I could use the company and that way, you won’t be alone.”

She disentangles herself from him so she can look at him properly. “Won’t that be weird?”

“As weird as me staying at the house of a man I’ve only met twice in twenty-one years.” Jon shrugs, trying for nonchalant but probably spectacularly failing. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favour.”

Sansa chews on her bottom lip in consternation and it really isn’t fair how attracted he is to her because all he wants to do right now is kiss her until they can’t see straight.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, still thinking. “They’ll think I’m your girlfriend.”

“They probably will,” Jon hedges, grey eyes searching blues. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

“Okay…”

“Okay what? Okay to staying with me? Or okay to not minding being my girlfriend?” Jon’s heart is in his throat and he kind of wants to be sick but he forces himself to be brave and reach out to tuck a loose strand of copper red hair behind her ear.

“Both,” she all but whispers, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth again.

Jon runs his fingers gently down her jaw and smooths her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before pressing his lips to hers. It’s soft and searching, waiting to see what she’ll do, but when he feels her fingers twist in his shirt, tugging him closer, Jon loses himself in the feel of her. He shows her just how long he’s been waiting to do this, just how much he fucking loves her and he thinks she’s doing the same by the way she’s responding to him.

It’s a long time before they resurface, and when they do, they’re both breathing heavily, lips pink and swollen in the aftermath. It’s perfect and she’s beautiful. It’s going to be the best bloody Christmas he’s ever had.


	2. Stupidly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jon saying "if you so much as breathe on her..." Mafia AU

It’s a little like a cheesy over-the-top romantic comedy but with a lot more blood and no one’s laughing, least of all Jon. Even distantly, in the part of his mind that can appreciate how they met for what it was, he still thinks her life would be better off if he hadn’t shown up in her ER with a bullet wound to the shoulder. Now, because Jon couldn’t stop himself, her life is in danger and it’s all his fault. He should have known better. Who he is and who he has to be can never be worthy of someone like Sansa Stark.

But Jon isn’t going to let his despair and regret cloud him from what he has to do. She’s in danger and he’ll kill every last Lannister if he has to. She’s the only thing in his life that’s ever made sense, and if he loses her like he’s lost everyone else, Jon doesn’t think he can live through that.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Edd inspects his gun for the third time in thirty minutes. He doesn’t look up from his meticulous inspection but his head is inclined towards Jon as he waits for his answer.

Jon wants to shout that, ‘ _yes, of course he has to bloody do this_ ,’ but he knows rationally it’s not Edd’s fault that he’s being questioned for his actions. The Targaryens have had a long-standing truce with the Lannisters for as long as Jon has been alive – all twenty-four years of his miserable existence – and to do this would be to effectively cut those ties off. But this isn’t some overstep from the Lannisters, procuring and selling weapons on the Targaryens’ territory. This is a direct attack on Jon. They know he’s being groomed to take over the business now that his siblings are both dead and his father is dying. They don’t respect that he’s so young or that he’s not a full Targaryen, and normally Jon wouldn’t even give two shits whether a bunch of golden-haired assholes thought he was worthy of leading the Targaryen family, but they took Sansa and Jon’s going to get her back even if it means he’s breaking every rule in the book.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jon says in lieu of answering because Edd _knows_ he has to, but his friend scoffs loudly and shakes his head. “I don’t need more blood on my hands.”

“How do we know they even have her?” Tormund asks instead. He has his feet propped up on the opposite bench with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s the only way the man can properly fit in the back of the SUV without lying down on the bed of the car. “It might not be the Lannisters.”

Edd scoffs again. “Did you see the way that prick Joffrey was eyeing her the other night? Oh yeah, he definitely has her.”

The water bottle Jon has in his hands crackle loudly. He drops it onto the ground, staring unseeingly at its mangled form. “It’s time.”

All three men file out of the car silently. Edd and Tormund make their way around the abandoned warehouse as Jon walks up to the entrance. They’ll be expecting backup but they won’t be expecting how _little_ backup Jon actually has. He doesn’t trust anyone else to understand how much Sansa means to him and he doesn’t trust anyone else to have his back as loyally as Edd and Tormund.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he quickly answers.

“So you found me.”

“ _Joffrey_ ,” Jon sneers into the phone with as much disgust as he can muster under the circumstances. “Let me in.”

“Uh uh, you’re not in any position to be making demands, or have you forgotten I have your little girlfriend here with me? Say hi, sweetheart.” There’s a muffled whimper and Jon’s heart plummets to the ground. His hands tighten into fists by his side. “She says hi.”

“If you so much as breathe on her, I swear to god I’ll tear apart this warehouse to kill you.”

“Big words for one man,” he laughs, but before Jon can answer, the door to the warehouse swings and a heavily-armed man signals for Jon to come in.

He hangs up the phone and follows. In the centre of the warehouse tied to a chair is a blindfold Sansa. He inspects from where he is, struggling against the urge to run to her and make sure she’s okay, but he is resigned to the consolation that she looks okay. Her hair is tousled and matted to her skin. She looks paler than usual and there is dried blood caking her forehead but her chest rises and falls rhythmically. She’s alive. That’s all that matters for now.

“You have my attention,” Jon says, distinct and clear. “What do you want?”

Joffrey leans against the chair, his hand toying with strands of Sansa’s hair. Jon’s going to kill him. It’s not wishful thinking; he _is_ going to kill him.

“When your father dies, you’ll step back from the business,” Joffrey tells him. “You’ll dismantle the Targaryen family.”

This nearly makes Jon snort because it is now so obvious to Jon that Joffrey has gone behind Tywin’s back. The patriarch would never have bothered with such an asinine plan. He’s more cunning than that; his treachery lies in the seams of an operation. He understands that without a Targaryen family in charge, there’ll be power vacuum and any two-bit drug lord or arms dealer could stroll on in, causing trouble for the Lannisters. The truce they have works because they both respect it. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.

“And how do I know you won’t just kill us when we leave here?”

“You don’t.” Joffrey presses the muzzle of his gun against Sansa’s temple. “But the alternative is me putting a bullet through her pretty little head right now.”

Sansa jerks her head and he hears something like a growl coming from the woman. It makes him proud that even in the face of possible death she’s defiant to the very end. She’s always been stubborn. It’s one of her most infuriating and endearing qualities. She jerks her head again and begins to speak against her gag.

“Is that necessary?” Jon points to the cloth wrapped around her mouth. “Let her speak.”

Surprisingly, Joffrey unties the gag and drops it to the ground. Sansa lets out another growl before she inclines her head back to look at Joffrey. Her face is startlingly impassive, a firm set of her lips, and blue eyes cold as ice. This is the face she wears in the ER when she’s dealing with particularly unruly patients but as quick as it comes, it can easily slide away to her sweet smile and fond eyes when she meets a young child. The first time he saw it happen, Jon knew instantly that he was stupidly, irrevocably in love with her.

“Leaving an entire section of the city unmanned is not in your best interest,” Sansa says evenly, and Jon’s heart thumps in his chest. He’s never told her about what he does – and that he knows was his first mistake because it’s not like he doesn’t trust her; he was just terrified of her walking away – and Jon can’t fathom what she’s doing right now, but he can see the determination there so he doesn’t interrupt. “People are going to be suspicious and your family will spend months trying to win back their trust.”

Even Joffrey looks impressed, which he tries very hard to hide. “What would you know?”

“My family has been in politics for longer than you’ve been alive,” Sansa spits out. “If you want a change in power, you don’t overthrow the previous regime and expect everything to return to normal. It should be gradual. Start by forming an alliance with the Targaryens.”

“Hmm,” is all Joffrey says for the moment and Jon wants to laugh because the man is clearly not expecting Sansa to be so intelligent and fearless. But Jon did. There’s nothing she can’t do.

“An alliance will increase business on both ends,” Jon adds after the silence has stretched too long, and to show he’s supporting her no matter what. “You can become more involved with us and by the time I step down, no one will be any wiser. No war. No blood shed.” The last he says with bite, just so the message is clear. If Sansa is hurt, there _will_ be a war and Jon won’t care who dies in the process. Love makes people do dangerous things and a lost love can leave a man with nothing left to lose.

Joffrey is stupid but he’s not that stupid and even he can see the merit in this deal, so it’s only five minutes later that he agrees to the terms, cuts Sansa’s ties loose, and then Jon is finally, _finally_ holding her in his arms like she is the most precious thing in the entire world.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, one hand pressing against the back of her head and the other wrapped around her. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

Sansa laughs, voice muffled against the crook of his neck. He can feel her smile into his skin and he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’m fine, Jon. Let’s… Let’s get out of here, okay?”

He nods as he takes her hand. He’s not sparing Joffrey another glance because he has Sansa back and she’s not pushing him away. If anything, she’s pulling him closer, latching herself to his side like she can’t get enough of him, and that’s okay with Jon. He’d be happy to just hold her for the rest of his life.

Once they’re back in the van with Edd and Tormund, who nod to Jon in acknowledgement as they cram into the front, Jon turns her in his arms and kisses her, soft and chaste, on the lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought by not telling you about all this I was protecting you but… I got you hurt anyways. I’ll understand if you don’t want to… It’ll be okay if you don’t want to see me ever again.”

Sansa pulls back to look at him. “Will it? Because I won’t be okay if I don’t get to see you again.” She shakes her head, sighing softly. “I’m not _happy_ about how I found out about your… um, family business, but I love you, okay? You’re a broody, stubborn man, but I love you and I’m here if you’ll have me. We’ll figure this out together.”

He surges forward to capture her lips again, turning the kiss from soft and chaste to desperate and needy. She loves him and she wants this just as much as him, and those thoughts are so intoxicating to Jon that he completely forgets about Joffrey until they’re curled up on his bed later that evening watching the six o’clock news.

“ _Police suspect that the cause of the burned down warehouse in lower Riverrun was due to arson.”_

Sansa shifts from her position so she’s resting her chin on his chest. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“It’s a message,” Jon answers easily. “They had a new shipment in the basement so we burnt it all. This way Joffrey knows that he can’t use you as a bargaining chip.”

“ _Jon_ …”

“No one was hurt.” Although Jon was thoroughly tempted to hurt everyone involved in the kidnapping but he knows Sansa wouldn’t approve. She may be okay with his family business but she’s a doctor and the taking of lives goes against everything she is. “But if they take you again, I won’t be so kind.”

Sansa huffs but she presses a kiss onto his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“We also might have sent a second message,” Jon admits after a moment. At Sansa’s questioning gaze, he chuckles softly. “We knew his father didn’t know about the kidnapping so we sent a little nudge in the form of a video recording Edd took of the whole conversation at the warehouse.”

Sansa opens her mouth and then closes it. She laughs. “So your business is okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“And we’re okay?”

The slight waver in her voice has Jon sitting up so he can cradle her face in his hands. “I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you for as long as I’m alive, Sans,” he tells her emphatically. “I’ll protect you any way I can, however I can. Even if we’re not… even if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll always be there for you.”

“I want you,” she responds quietly, a small smile at her lips. “Us. This. Even all of your questionable life choices. I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” Jon has to ask because this is not a normal response and he doesn’t know if he believes her. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of what happened. She might regret it in the morning. He’d let her go if she did but it’d still kill him to do it. “My life is dangerous, Sansa. I do things that I’m not proud of. My family aren’t good people.”

“But you are,” Sansa says instantly. “You’re the best person I know. And…” She ducks her head to rest her cheek to his chest again. “They’re not your family. Edd’s your family. Tormund is. _I’m_ your family.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Jon says but he’s grinning down at her. “I’m going to make bad decisions. Do bad things.”

“And I’ll be there to help you fix it. Get used to it, Jon Targaryen. I’m here and I’m staying.”

“Well,” Jon laughs again and drops a kiss to her hair. “Good. Because I love you and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“You better,” is the last thing she says before her breaths even out and she’s fast asleep, curled into his side.

Yup, Jon thinks, he’s definitely stupidly in love with her.


	3. These Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural AU: After the fifth body shows up dead in as many months with its heart missing, Jon arrives into town to wait for the next full moon but when three women turn up dead looking remarkably like the beautiful medical examiner he can’t seem to get out of his head, Jon realises this hunt may be a little more personal than he had anticipated.

Red and blue lights reflected off of every surface as the sirens came to a stop in front of him. Jon ran one hand wearily over his hair. It had been a long week, longer than he would’ve liked, but the hunt wasn’t over yet and he couldn’t risk being off his game for one second. He readjusted his suit, hating the way the collar felt suffocating in this heat, and waited. One by one the two cops exited their vehicle and walked up to him. One greeted him with a wave and the other yawned into his hand. 

“I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now,” the one named Davie said. His partner hissed and elbowed him in the stomach. He glanced to his right and paled. “Shit. I mean…” 

“Have some sensitivity, will you?” Dev shook his head. He nodded towards Jon. “How do you beat us every time?” 

Jon shrugged as noncommittally as he could. “That’s why I’m with the FBI and you’re not.” He smiled toothily in jest. The two men laughed. “I haven’t been inside but it sounds the same.”

“Yeah,” Dev said. “Third one this week alone. What the hell is going on?” 

“We’ll find the bastard who did this,” Jon reassured. He raised the yellow tape surrounding the house and pulled it up. “Ladies, first.”

They laughed again as they walked past. It was a nondescript two-storey house with panelled windows and a red-brick roof. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, in Jon’s opinion, but looks as he had come to learn over the years were very deceiving. 

As the three men walked into the house, they were instantly assaulted by the smell of putrid, decaying flesh. Jon raised an arm to his nose and tried to breathe only through his mouth. He should be used to it. After years on the job, this was a daily occurrence, but no matter how many dead bodies he encountered, he didn’t think he’d ever be used to it. 

At least it appeared that Dev and Davie were equally as uncomfortable with the smell as he was. Both of them gagged and grumbled about a wasted weekend. They walked into the living room and stopped just at the threshold. 

“Good lord, girl, even when you’re kneeling next to a dead body, you’re still the most stunning woman around,” Davie cried out, teasingly. 

The woman in question looked up, clear blue eyes narrowed upon seeing the man, and she groaned. “Officer Harrison, please refrain from making inappropriate comments in front of the deceased.” 

Dev sighed and walked forward. “My apologies, Miss Stark. Unfortunately my partner was dropped on his head one too many times as a baby.” 

She smiled at that and Jon sucked in a breath. He had to get a grip. She was just another woman in another city. But when her blue eyes snapped to his, his whole body buzzed with electricity. 

“Agent Rogers,” she said in greeting. “I hope you have a suspect. I’m getting real tired of examining these bodies.” She nodded to the dead woman on the ground beside her, a lock of red hair falling from her bun. “We have to stop the psycho doing this.” 

Jon agreed and had every intention of hunting the son of a bitch down but in her presence, all he could do was nod. He didn’t know why he was acting like such a prepubescent teenager when he had already spent so much time with the woman but she made him nervous. That was simply it.

“Well, okay then,” she said, eyebrows raised. When Dev crouched down beside her and asked her something Jon couldn’t hear, she nodded. “Yup, same as the others.” 

“Christ, what in god’s name is happening!” 

The shrill cry from Dev brought Jon back. “I’m going to have a look around the property,” he announced and exited the living room. He searched the premises for anything that could indicate where the intruder had come in from but aside from the broken door, there was no trace whatsoever. Jon followed the trail of wooden shards to the outside. Her car was parked haphazardly in her garage, door still wide open. 

Jon was peering inside when footsteps from behind him had him turning around. 

“Agent Rogers,” she said quietly as she walked forward. “I know this must seem crazy to you but… I couldn’t help noticing, I mean it was really quite hard _not_ to notice when you have your hands inside their chests and all, but…” She shook her head and more tendrils of red hair fell from her bun. “They all look like me, right?”

He cursed under his breath and walked the distance to her. She was still on the steps leading down to the garage so he had to crane his neck up. Fear swam in her blue eyes and he noticed now she was trembling. 

“Sansa,” Jon said and held her hands in his, marveling at how small and smooth they were in his own calloused ones. “I know you don’t know me very well but I need you to trust me.”

He had arrived in town about a month ago. By that point, five bodies had turned up with their hearts missing and bite marks along their torso. Jon knew what it was in an instant but with the full moon having passed by the time he arrived, he had to wait another month for the werewolf to resurface. At first Jon hadn’t noticed a pattern. Caucasian females in their mid-to-late twenties. It seemed nondescript enough but this past week, each woman who had shown up dead had copper red hair and a striking resemblance to the medical examiner. Jon knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be in danger and he couldn’t let that happen. He had been raised _not_ to let that happen – and if he was honest with himself, in the past month, Sansa Stark had become something of a staple in his life. Her easy smiles and good-natured teasing were things Jon didn’t want to live without. 

“I know you well enough, Jon,” Sansa said, her hands squeezing his tightly. “And of course I trust you.” 

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief at that admission. “Okay then I need you to… You need to stay with me tonight.” The look of surprise in her eyes had him speaking quickly. “So I can protect you, I mean! It’s just… It’s a full moon tonight. He only strikes in the weeks leading up to the full moon then he disappears after. If he wanted to hurt you, tonight would be his last chance.” 

Sansa paled and her grip tightened. “Do you think he wants to hurt me?” 

“I don’t know,” Jon lied. “But I’d be happier if you just stayed with me tonight.” 

“Okay… okay, I’ll just go home and grab some things,” Sansa said slowly. He could practically see her mind whirring, trying to make sense of what was happening. He hated this was happening to her but he could protect her and that was what mattered right now. 

“There’s no time, Sansa,” Jon told her. “After you wrap here, I’ll drive you back to my motel. We’ll hole up there for the night.” 

Nearly two hours later, with the body on its way to the morgue, Jon drove Sansa through the empty town back to his dingy motel. He opened the door for her to walk through and she stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the wall of newspaper clippings and maps with seemingly nonsensical red circles all over the country. Jon cursed at himself for forgetting about the wall. “Sansa, I can…” 

She traced a finger along the map, not turning to look at him. “You’re not an FBI agent, are you?” 

Jon considered lying but somehow he knew she’d see right through it. “No, I’m not.” 

“What are you? _Who_ are you?”

“My name is Jon,” he answered as he sat down on the bed. “Jon Snow. I’m a… I guess you could call me a hunter.” 

“A hunter?” Sansa turned around now to really regard him. “A hunter of what?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” 

Sansa frowned, pale eyes darkening. “Try me, Jon _Snow_.” 

Never had his name sounded so good to his ears but Jon pushed that to the back of his mind and focused on the woman in front of him. “These women all have their hearts missing, right?” Jon asked in lieu of replying directly. She nodded, warily. “And you said it yourself that the marks on the body looked like a wolf had bitten into them, right?”

“Jon, there aren’t any wolves in these parts.”

“I know,” Jon sighed. “But there _is_ a werewolf.” 

Sansa blinked, frozen where she stood, but abruptly, laughter spilled from her lips. “You’re crazy. Oh my god, you’re super crazy, aren’t you?” She began to pace the length of his room, shaking her head, until the hair tie holding her bun fell out and long red hair flowed down past her shoulders. “I can’t believe I have a crush on a crazy man. That’s just great. Way to go, Sansa!” 

Before he could truly grasp what she had just admitted, something flickered in his peripheral and Jon quickly stood up, tugging Sansa towards him. He clasped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet.” She struggled against him but he shushed her again. “Sansa, please. Just… please be quiet.” The desperate tone he used must have gotten through to her because she stopped moving. 

Silence enveloped them. Jon could hear nothing but the rustling of trees outside. His shoulders began to relax but he held Sansa tight to his side regardless with one arm and the other around his gun. Another minute and he was ready to release her when the windows to the room shattered and a growling werewolf loomed towards them. 

“Ramsay?” Sansa cried out. “What… What’s wrong with him!” 

Jon pushed her behind him as he aimed his gun towards the werewolf. “You know him?”

“He was a co-worker,” Sansa said. A sob tore its way from the woman and Jon felt his heart clench at the sound. “Oh god, I should’ve known. I _should’ve_ known. He wasn’t right, Jon. He wasn’t… He was possessive of me and when he started getting violent, I filed a restraining order on him. Oh my god, those poor women! This is all because of me!” 

There was no time to comfort her because now the werewolf was lunging at them. Without hesitation, Jon pulled the trigger, sending three silver bullets into its chest. It howled in pain and advanced forward again. This time, Jon put a bullet straight through its head. Maybe it was excessive but as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a known cure for lycanthropy yet, and frankly, this Ramsay person deserved it. Werewolf or not, he was a despicable, horrible man and Jon felt little remorse in killing him. 

Jon walked towards the body to make sure he really was dead. Once satisfied, he turned back to Sansa and pulled the sobbing woman into his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s okay. It’s over now. He’s gone. He won’t hurt you or anyone ever again.”

Sansa cried into his shoulder. “Those women, Jon… They all died because of me. He killed them because he wanted to kill _me_!” 

“No, Sans, you can’t think like that,” Jon said as he pulled back to look at her. He wiped her tears from her face with the pad of his thumb. “He was an evil man who would have done evil things whether he had met you or not.” 

“But he did meet me,” Sansa said. “And I didn’t see the signs. I didn’t want to see the world for what it is. I wanted to believe he was a good person, even when he hurt me. Maybe if I had… I don’t know. Maybe if I had reported him, he’d be in jail and no one would’ve died.” 

Jon sighed. He knew this guilt well because it was one he had lived with for most of his life but where he rightfully deserved to bear the brunt of it, Sansa didn’t. “He would’ve gotten out at the first full moon,” Jon told her. “And he would still have killed. You can’t blame yourself, Sansa. Evil has no rhyme or reason. You protected yourself the only way you knew how and that’s just as important.”

For a long second, she didn’t say anything. She just fisted her hands into his shirt and held him there, her blue eyes staring but not seeing. Finally, she spoke and his heart all but stopped at what she had to say. “But you know how to protect other people, don’t you? You know how to see the signs and make sure no one else needs to die. Jon, teach me.” 

“No. No, I can’t. Sansa, you have a good life here. Don’t involve yourself in this.” 

“How can I not!” Sansa cried out as she dropped her hands and stepped away. “I can’t go back to my job knowing what’s out there. I want to be able to protect myself. I _want_ to be able to protect other people. I couldn’t save those women this time but maybe next time I can.” 

Jon shook his head again. “I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning. And _you_ are staying here, where you belong.” 

The sirens sounded now from a distance and Jon glanced behind him to note that Ramsay had turned back into his human form. Thank god for that. 

“No,” Sansa ground out with a scowl. “I’m coming with you.”

“Sansa, please…” 

“Take me with you,” she said again, more firmly this time. “Or else I’ll just go find someone else to teach me. You can’t be the only person who does this sort of thing.” 

Jon’s teeth clenched and he scowled back at her. For a long tense moment, neither said anything, neither person willing to budge, but then with a resigned sigh, Jon dropped his gaze. “Fine. _Fine_. But you do exactly as I say when I say it. If you become a liability, I’m dropping your ass back here in this podunk town.” 

Sansa flashed him her most dazzling smile. “You got it, Agent Rogers.” She stoop on her tiptoes and kissed him soundly on the lips before rushing over to the door just as the sirens stopped in front of his room and Dev and Davie filed out. 

“Hey gorgeous!” 

“Hey handsome!” 

“Woah, did she just –” 

“Sansa, are you feeling well?”

“Better now. Where’s my team?”

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. By morning, Sansa had quit her job, packed her belongings and stuffed them into the trunk of his car. And by noon, Jon realised his life had now been irrevocably changed forever all because of the stubborn redheaded woman asleep in the seat next to him and the funny thing was he didn’t care. 


	4. After All This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Modern AU: According to her flatmate, Sansa has been single for far too long so she sets her up on a blind date. Only when she gets there, the stranger she’s supposed to meet isn’t so much a stranger at all.

_**Five Years Ago** _

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Sansa stepped onto the balcony, a cool breeze ruffling her dress, as she closed the sliding door. The noise from inside was now thankfully muffled by the double-paned glass. She walked across the small balcony to lean into the railing. 

Jon smiled at her. “You caught me.” 

“You know, it’s usually typical of the person the going away party is being thrown for to be inside with the partygoers,” Sansa commented. She rested her forearms on the cool metal and inclined her head towards the boy beside her. 

“I’m not really a party person.”

Sansa chuckled. “You don’t say.” 

“I just wanted a quiet evening,” Jon admitted, sighing. “Guess that’s too much to ask for, isn’t it?” 

“You’re talking about Robb here,” Sansa pointed out. “There’s no such thing as a quiet evening in his world. You’re just lucky he didn’t invite the entire department.” 

Jon rubbed his eyes and laughed behind his hands. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I know I’m right,” Sansa smirked, and nudged his shoulder with her own. “How are you feeling?” 

“Honestly?” Jon looked to her with a self-deprecating smile. “Terrified. I’ve never even been outside of the UK and now I’m going all the way to Brazil. What was I thinking?” 

“You were thinking of adventure and… and doing something incredible!” Sansa enthused, knowing she didn’t have the courage for quite a big move herself. She wished but Jon had always been the brave one. “That’s admirable, Jon.”

“You think?” 

Sansa placed her hand on top of his and squeezed tightly. “Of course I do. I believe in you. We all do.” 

Jon held her gaze, turning her hand so their fingers intertwined. She wasn’t sure what he was doing but somehow she couldn’t look away. In fact, she could hardly breathe with Jon’s deep grey eyes staring at her like that. Her heart pounded in her throat. Sansa didn’t know if she wanted to throw up or throw her hands around his neck. But that was absurd, wasn’t it? This was Jon. Broody, serious Jon; her brother’s _best friend_. 

“Sansa, I…” He paused and swallowed nervously. “I have to tell you something before I go. I…” 

The sliding door clanged to the side as Robb poked his head through. “There you are! We’re about to bring out your cake. C’mon!” 

“We’ll be right out,” Sansa told him, and once her brother was back indoors, she turned to Jon. Except he was gone from her. His hands were back by his side and he smiled, a distant look in his eyes. “Jon? What were you going to say?” 

“Thank you,” he said with a soft sigh. “Thank you for staying up with me all those nights to study for my exams. Couldn’t have gotten this fellowship without you, Sans.” 

Jon kissed her on the cheek and retreated into the party. 

_**Present** _

“ _Ma pupuce_ , you must go!” 

Sansa crossed her arms across her chest and shook her head. Now that she was set to meet the man in less than an hour, she didn’t think she had the nerve. It wasn’t like her to go on a blind date anyways, so surely now was not the type to be straying outside her comfort zone. 

“Sansa,” her flatmate said in that aggravatingly sultry French accent. “When was the last time you had a date?” 

“Not since…” 

“Oui, not since Joffrey!” Constance cried out. “You deserve a good man.”

“And how do you know this man will be a good man?” Sansa cried out with equal amounts of dramatic flourish. “He might just be as much of a jerk!” 

“No one, darling, is as much of a jerk as Joffrey,” Constance said. “Now, go. I did not waste a whole week with Marcos for nothing.”

Sansa didn’t move. She just sighed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You don’t even know what he’s like, Constance!”

Her flatmate waved a hand in the air as if Sansa had just said the most trivial thing in the world. “Nonsense. I told you, I sat with Marcos and went through all of his friends. It was a very… um, qu’est-ce que c’est… _rigorous_ process.” 

At least, Sansa could concede, that it wasn’t one of Constance’s male friends, who were all a little too colourful for Sansa’s tastes. Maybe if she had been nineteen again she’d be into that but at twenty-five, she was looking for more. The problem was Sansa just didn’t know what _more_ meant. She supposed that was where Constance’s coworker Marcos came in. He was normal. Sansa could do with normal after her ex, Joffrey. 

“Go!” 

Finally ushered out of the door, Sansa walked the short distance to the restaurant where she would be meeting this mystery man. She hadn’t wanted to go further than walking distance from her flat just in case her blind date turned out to be completely crazy. 

The restaurant was a small, quaint little bistro on the corner of the high street. It had little adorable white wrought iron chairs and tables outside. A sign in glittering gold spelled out, ‘ _Chez L’Ami Pierre_ ’. Inside, the decor was a deep burgundy colour mixed with accents of gold and black. It was truly one of Sansa’s favourite restaurants in Paris but as the prices were not necessarily kind to a teacher’s salary, she could only afford it on the very special occasions. A blind date was one of them, though truthfully, she just wanted to be somewhere she knew. 

Once seated, Sansa began to wring the hem of her dress with increasing agitation. The nervous energy that had nearly rooted her to her flat was now coursing through her veins, pulsing to its own drumbeat. 

What was she doing here? She must be insane. Totally, utterly insa– 

“Sansa?” 

Her heart leapt to her throat. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Sansa tried again and managed a weak, “ _what…_ ” 

“I… You…” He seemed to be at a similar loss for words. Sansa watched as he struggled to regain his senses, taking note of his familiar curly, unruly black hair, those deep grey eyes and those sinfully full lips. But he was different, _changed_. He was no longer the boy she had known all those years ago. He was... 

“I haven’t seen you since –” 

“Your going away party,” Sansa filled in. 

“Has it really been five years?” Jon breathed out with wide-eyed surprise. Sansa nodded quietly, and in turn, he sighed, a sound so regretful she felt it in her chest. “I’m sorry… I’ll leave you to your dinner.” 

“Jon, wait,” Sansa said, noticing something in his hand. “That’s… Why do you have a yellow rose?” 

Jon paused and abruptly started laughing. “God, this is…” 

“Unbelievable?” 

“Yeah, something like that,” Jon nodded. He settled in the seat across from her and chuckled again. “Five years and now this.”

Sansa smiled faintly. Her heart was still beating wildly in her chest. She could hardly believe that it was Jon sitting in front of her right now but as that began to settle around her, something else niggled at the back of her mind, a feeling she had pushed away for so many years. 

“Why didn’t you call?” Sansa asked. “Or email? Or even text? I know we weren’t exactly good friends or anything but…” She trailed off again. It seemed to be a recurring habit around Jon. He made her lose her train of thought. 

Jon sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Fuck,” he murmured to himself. When he looked back up at her from behind his hands, those deep grey eyes bore into hers, imploring her to understand, but she didn’t. She didn’t understand anything. 

“At first,” Jon started, sighing. “Well, at first, I couldn’t. Trust me that I wanted to but I couldn’t. It was hard enough to be away from you and I knew if we started talking, I’d just want to fly straight home.” He chuckled softly. “Didn’t help though, you know? Still wanted to fly straight home.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

He moved his hands as if to grab for her but stopped himself midway. Jon then dropped them back on his lap. “I was in love with you, Sans,” he said quietly. “But the fellowship was two years long and I needed time to move on. Then when I did go home, you were away and we just kept missing each other that way.” He shook his head sadly. “After awhile, I made peace that whatever I felt was never meant to last.” 

Sansa inhaled deeply, trying to pull in oxygen to quell the pain running through her veins. It didn’t work. The pain was still there. All of those years of feeling betrayed, feeling like she had been _dumped_ and not understanding why she had a right to those feelings when Jon and her weren’t anything to each other, suddenly made sense. 

“You didn’t even bother to ask me though, did you?” Sansa scowled. “How I felt? You just assumed you were doing the right thing. God, Jon, you’re so…” She struggled for a word strong enough. “So thickheaded!” 

Jon blinked, startled by her accusation.

“Did you think that maybe I loved you too?” Sansa asked him. “And you disappearing out of my life for five years would’ve killed me?” 

“I didn’t –”

“No, of course you didn’t know! Because you never asked!” Sansa all but spat out “Well, that’s fine. See you in five years, Jon.” 

She stood up suddenly, scraping the chair across the ground in a piercing squeal. Several of the other patrons turned and stared at her but Sansa was past caring at this point. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and not emerge for the next month. Maybe have Constance spoon feed her ice cream as they watched some cheesy, stupid chick flick. 

Sansa raced from the restaurant as fast as was appropriate. She began her walk back down the high street towards the flat. She didn’t think he’d follow. She hadn’t expected him to – after all, he hadn’t reached out so much as one tweet in the past five years – so when a hand wrapped around hers and tugged her back, Sansa nearly screamed. 

“Sansa,” Jon said, exhaling loudly from running after her. “Shit, Sansa, I’m sorry. I fucked up. I royally, wholly, irrevocably screwed this up. And I am more sorry than I can tell you.”

The street light bathed Jon in an amber glow, highlighting the changes in his face that she hadn’t been around to see over the past five years. She sighed. “It’s five years too late.” 

“I know. I understand that,” Jon said softly. “And I have no right to ask anything of you. I just needed to tell you before I lost the chance again… Sansa, I never once stopped loving you. Not in five years and probably not in the next five years.” He smiled then. “I tried to move on once and it failed miserably. I don’t think I have the energy to try again.” 

“Was this what you wanted to tell me that night? Out on the balcony?” 

“Yes,” Jon admitted. “But I chickened out.” 

“Huh,” Sansa murmured. She wondered if he had told her then, would things have been different? Would they have been together all this time? Or would she have still pretended to move on and date Joffrey for a year? 

As epiphanies went, this one slid into her consciousness like a well-worn jumper. It was warm and comforting, and her anger melted away at its first touch. Sansa knew with such resounding clarity that even if Jon had confessed that night, nothing would have changed. She would never have been happy with a long-distance relationship and she would never have asked him to come home for her when she knew this was what he had wanted since he was a young boy. Likewise, Jon would never have stopped her from traveling the world to teach English. 

“We’re both idiots,” Sansa finally said, smiling at him. When he only stared back at her, confusion evident in his grey eyes, she laughed. “Because I still love you too.” 

Throwing her arms around him, Sansa kissed Jon for the first time, thrilled with the knowledge that this wouldn’t be the last time. She kissed him knowing that there were a million more kisses to come and each one would have a different meaning, a different part of their love that they hadn’t discovered yet. And god, she kissed him because she could and because she had wanted to for nearly a decade. 

But the best part of it all was that Jon kissed her like no one could ever love her as much as he did, and in that moment, and many moments to come, Sansa believed that. 


	5. In This Galaxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Dystopian AU: After Winterfell, one of the largest ships in the galaxy, is attacked by rebels, Lieutenant Snow is tasked with protecting the princess, but when they are saved by the royal military unit, Lieutenant Snow is interrogated over what really transpired during the rebellion.

“State your name and station.”

“Jon Snow. Lieutenant at The Wall.”  


The man crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. His blonde hair was cropped to the scalp and there was a long jagged scar down his right eye. He would be intimidating if Jon hadn’t spent the past five years at The Wall where he had seen the worst of what the war could do to people.

“What was your business at Winterfell?”

“I was sent by my general to discuss a private matter.”

“What was that matter?”

“That is above your clearance.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He placed both hands on the cool, metal table.

“Lieutenant Snow, I can assure you I have clearance.”

“Unless General Mormont tells me personally, I cannot say any further.”

There was a moment where the man seemed to consider this and debate whether it was worth pressing the issue further but a knock from the other side of the mirror decided for him. Jon didn’t know who was watching behind the glass or how many people had been involved in the rebellion, all he cared about was getting out of here and finding her.

“Very well. So you arrived at Winterfell three days prior. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And then what happened?”

“My men and I were escorted immediately to General Stark’s office where the matter was discussed.”

“This is Eddard Stark?”

“No. This was his son. Robb Stark.”

“Where was Eddard Stark? Last we heard, he was the General in charge of Winterfell.”

“He is retired with his wife at Riverrun, or so I was told.”

“So you met with General Robb Stark. What happened after?”

“Once the matter was concluded, General Stark held a feast for my men and I. It had been a long journey from The Wall. It was to lift our spirits.”

“Were you intoxicated at this feast, Lieutenant Snow?”

“No.”

“Was this when the rebels arrived?”

“No. That happened later.”

“So what happened at the feast?”

“We drank, we ate. It was a feast. Nothing of import happened other than that.”

“Was that when you met the princess?”

Jon’s jaw clenched imperceptibly.

“Yes and no. We were introduced in passing but I did not speak to her.”

“Did you want to?”

“I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“Answer the question, lieutenant.”

“No, I did not want to. She is a woman well above my station. I had no reason to want to speak to her.”

The man wrote something in his file and nodded. Jon knew what was coming but knowing it did little to ease the tension built up around his shoulders.

“So the rebels came at what hour?”

“Oh-three-hundred.”

“What happened first?”

“A blast broke down in the hull of the ship. Even from where our quarters were, it rocked all of Winterfell.”

“Did you try to reach an escape pod?”

“No, I am a soldier. My duty was to my men. We stayed and fought.”

“But you didn’t stay for long.”

“Is that a question?”

“What did General Stark say to you during the fighting?”

“He ordered me to protect the princess.”

“Just you?”

“Just me. He did not trust anyone else.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Winterfell had not detected any enemy ships so the rebels must’ve already been on board when they attacked. There was no telling which of us were compromised.”

“But General Stark was sure you weren’t?”

“We trained together at the Academy. He knows I am loyal.”

The man jotted something else down. Jon’s unease grew.

“So you abandoned the fight and went to find the princess. What happened?”

“I escorted her to an escape pod but we were ambushed. We had to find refuge somewhere. There were six rebels after us and I couldn’t take them all at once without risking the safety of the princess.”

“I see. And so you blocaded yourselves in the infirmary. For the entire time?”

“Where else would we go? We could still hear the fighting. If we tried to reach our escape pod with those rebels looking for us, we’d be dead. I had a mission to protect the princess at all cost and I was not willing to fail.”

“Because of General Stark?”

“Yes.”

“And no other reason?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“You were alone with the princess for two days, Lieutenant Snow. You tell us.”

“If you’re asking if anything happened between the princess and I then the answer is no. Like I said, I am a soldier and she is a princess. She is well above my station.”

“But did you want something to happen?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant to the rebellion.”

“It is very relevant, Lieutenant Snow. Now answer the question.”

“My only concerns were about her safety. I kept her safe. That is all.”

A shout could be heard from beyond the room and Jon jerked forward, alert and ready.

“What’s happening?”

The man looked nonplussed, as if he barely even heard the noise. He merely flipped through the file in his lap.

“None of your concern. Now, how did the princess sustain her injuries?”

The shouting continued. Jon’s eyes flickered to the only entrance into the room. Something wasn’t right. He had felt it as soon as these men had arrived, claiming to be the White Cavalry, a military unit dedicated to protecting the royal family, but there was something off about them. Jon couldn’t put his finger on what it was but he needed to find her. He needed to make sure she was safe.

“Lieutenant Snow, _how_ did the princess sustain her injuries?”

Jon looked back at the man, frowning.

“We were found by the rebels on the last day. There were three of them this time. I did my best but one of them got to her before I could incapacitate them.”

“I see.”

The memory pained him still. He had let them touch her. It was his job to protect the princess, his job to protect his friend’s cousin, but he had barely managed that.

“Is she okay?”

The man looked up from his file, a slow, sinister smile pulling taut across his face. Jon’s fingers clenched tightly at his side.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Snow, what is the nature of your relationship with the princess?”

“There is no relationship.”

“Hmm, I beg to differ. According to footage recovered from Winterfell, there is in fact a rather _fond_ relationship between the two of you.” The man closed his file. He smiled even wider now. “So if I were to threaten your life, do you think the princess would rush to your aid? Do you think she would reveal her father’s plans for the warship?”

Jon’s breath left him in a rush. He brought both fists down onto the table and lurched forward.

“You piece of shit, where did you take her!”

The man leaned back. There was nothing Jon could do with the restraints holding him in place. His heart pounded in his chest, all the worries and doubts coming to surface all at once. They were part of the rebellion. He should have known. He should have protected her.

“ _That_ is none of your concern, Lieutenant Snow.”

“You touch her and I’ll kill you!”

The man laughed, a foreboding sound to Jon’s ears.

“It’s quite touching, really, this little crush you have on the princess. Pathetic, lieutenant, but touching. It’s too bad she has to die for the cause. Such a pretty girl too.”

The shouting returned, now closer than before, and this time, it did cause the man to turn towards the mirrored wall with a furrow between his brows. Jon tried to regain control of his breathing. If he remained calm, he could find a way out of his restraints and save her. He could still save her. He had to.

Abruptly, the mirror exploded, shards of glass flying everywhere. Jon tucked his head towards his chest and angled his body as best as he could away from the projectiles. When he looked back up, his men were jumping into the room with their guns raised. Two grabbed the man who had been interrogating Jon, and his second-in-command unlocked Jon’s restraints with a smirk.

“Alright, Jon?” Edd asked. “You look like shit.”

Jon laughed and rubbed at his wrists as soon as the metal handcuffs had dropped away. He stood up, walking over to the man, and punched him square in the jaw.

“Not a crush,” Jon said, leaning forward so his voice remained low enough for only the man to hear, confessing something he hadn’t even said to the woman in question. “I love her. And the next time you try to threaten her life, I’ll make sure you die a slow and agonising death.”

As soon as the man was carried out from the room, a flurry of red came bounding towards him, his hands instinctively going around her waist. Her lips found his easily and she kissed him so fully, so deeply, that several of his men started to cough to get their attention. Jon chuckled, pushing her back but keeping one arm secured around her waist.

“Search the ship. Lock up any rebels you find and bring the injured to the main hall. Edd, I need you to contact General Mormont. No one else. Not even the royal family. We don’t know how many have been compromised.”

When his men had filed out, leaving him alone with her, Jon turned her in his arms and cradled her face in between his hands.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Jon,” she sighed, smiling. “I’m okay. I really am.”

He kissed her again, just to make sure she was really there in his arms.

“What’ll happen now?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said honestly. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight. You stay with me. It’s the only way I can protect you.”

“Is that a promise, Lieutenant Snow?”

“Aye. It is, Princess Sansa.”


	6. Blindingly Besotted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Jon and Sansa break up - Multiple POVs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this amazing Bellarke fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3163403
> 
> Go read it if you haven't!! And you like the ship I mean XD

** Arya **

For the most part, Arya doesn’t like to involve herself in her siblings’ lives. What they do and _who_ they do are none of her business and she likes to keep it that way. It’s all in a vain hope that they’ll return the courtesy but of course that never happens. The Starks are entirely too involved in each other’s lives, _especially_ Robb, who thinks it’s his duty to order them around just because he’s the oldest. But Arya still tries to keep her life to herself and she actively avoids any and all discussions of her siblings’ love lives. It frankly does not interest her in the least. 

So when she finds herself coming home early from hanging out with Gendry and the boys, the last thing she wants to witness is Jon and Sansa fighting. They always bicker every now and then – the problem with opposites dating, she supposes – but this feels different, _wrong_. And Arya is definitely intruding, only she can’t find it in herself to leave. Call it morbid curiosity. 

“You went to _Petyr_ , Sansa, don’t you get that!” Jon yells. “You went to him instead of me!” 

“I was trying to help! And it’s not like you were even listening to me. You keep _doing_ this. You keep shutting me out!” Sansa’s shrill voice echoes in the empty house, so laced with hurt that Arya has to suck in a breath. 

“So it’s my fault now?” Jon snaps back. “I told you I had it figured out! I had everything under control and then you – you went to fucking Petyr! Petyr, Sansa!” 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have if you had just trusted me from the start! But you never have. You always try to shoulder everything yourself and you never let me in.” Sansa’s voice breaks and Arya can imagine her sister so clearly now, red-faced and cheeks splotchy with tears. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me, Jon. I can’t do this. It hurts too much.” 

There’s a moment of silence before, “so that’s it? You’re giving up on us? That’s really it?” 

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare say that I didn’t put everything into this relationship, Jon Snow!”

“Then _what_ , Sansa! Why are you doing this! We fight! This is what we do!” Jon shouts, sounding more and more desperate with each word. It’s unnerving for Arya to hear him like this. Jon’s always been her hero, the person she could depend on to save the day, to always know what to do, but here in this moment, he sounds so small, so lost. 

“Maybe it’s not what I want to do anymore! I’m _tired_ of fighting with you. I’m tired of trying when you won’t let me in,” Sansa says but the fight is gone from her voice too. 

“I let you in…” But there’s doubt in his voice and even Arya knows he’s lying. More quietly, Jon says, “so that’s it, huh?” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The door leading to the kitchen clicks shut, loud and final even from where Arya is hiding, and then she hears Jon’s heavy exhalation before footsteps lead up the stairs. She doesn’t know what just happened or what they were even fighting about but this feels wrong. Everything about this feels so _wrong_. 

** Tormund **

It’s a bit selfish that Tormund is more upset that he won’t get to see Brienne anymore than he is about his friend’s breakup but it’s not like Jon will let him comfort him either. Nor would Tormund even know how to. He’s not really a relationship kind of guy and breakups are completely beyond his understanding. The only thing he can really focus on is how Brienne won’t come around anymore because Sansa won’t come around and that really bloody sucks. He’s kind of grown attached to the woman. There’s something so fierce in the way her gaze flickers around the room, noting everything with calculated precision as if she’s eyeing her best escape routes. It’s weird, sure, but it’s hot as all hell. 

He hoped at first that Jon and Sansa would reconcile by the end of the first week. It just didn’t seem possible for those two to stay away from each other for longer than that. They were both stupidly loyal to one another and stupidly in love that on occasion Tormund had walked into a room to see them cuddling only to walk straight out again. But a month has passed and it doesn’t look like they’re getting back together. This is probably it for them. It’s a shame too because he really did like Sansa. She was good for Jon. She made him less of a moody prick.

– which was why when he spots Brienne in a cafe sitting alone in a booth, he instantly sidles along the vinyl seat across from her. She looks up from her book, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. 

“Miss me?” he asks, unable to keep his eyes from appraising her. She’s in a plain beige jumper and dark jeans. Her short cropped blonde hair is messy and falls a little over her forehead. _Adorable_. 

“Don’t you have other friends, Tormund?” 

His eyes light up and she realises her mistake instantly. “So we _are_ friends!” 

“By proximity,” Brienne snaps irritably. “But now we don’t have to be so go away.” 

“We could be again,” he says easily, leaning back and smiling broadly. “I don’t know about your side but Jon’s still hopelessly in love with Sansa. It’s pretty obvious. Man is pathetic.”

There’s a flash of hope then amusement before Brienne schools her features into that impassive mask she always wears. “It’s not our business to meddle.” 

“But if they’re both miserable without the other, isn’t it? As friends?” 

“I… guess…” Brienne looks thoughtful and then she sighs. “Sansa’s lost weight.”

“Um… congrats?” 

“No, you numpty, she’s not eating properly, she’s not sleeping. If I don’t force her every morning to get out of bed, she might not even do that.” Brienne runs her fingers through her hair and Tormund desperately wants to do the same, see if it’s as soft as it looks. “Do you even know what they were fighting about?” 

Tormund abruptly sobers up at that and shakes his head. “Every time I ask, Jon just shouts at me so no. Haven’t got a bloody clue.” 

“Great…” 

“So she’s really a mess without him?” Tormund asks, aware of how this knowledge makes him ache a little because he really _did_ like Sansa. A lot.

“Yeah, and Jon?” 

“Hopeless,” he answers easily. “Pathetic. More of a grumpy cunt than ever before.” 

Brienne laughs, looks surprised that she did, and shakes her head. It’s adorable. So fucking adorable that Tormund has to hold himself back from just reaching across the table to kiss her. He can do that later. They have friends they need to sort out first. 

** Rickon **

At sixteen, Rickon is the youngest of the Starks and he’s more than aware that he is because none of his siblings ever lets him forget it. It was nice at first, to be coddled and spoiled by his siblings and parents, but he’s sixteen now. That means he’s almost an adult – not that that means shit to his family. It’s why Rickon spends so much of his time outdoors with his friends. Anything to stay away from the manor and keep active.

But Sansa is home for a week and he can’t help lingering around her. She’s always been his favourite. Sure, he gets along with all of his siblings but Sansa just gets him. She’s always been there for him, a calming presence in his life, and now that she’s home, he just wants to spend all of his time with her. But she’s different. Her smile never quite reaches her eyes and there’s a slowness to her movements like she’s treading against the current. It’s hard to look at her and see the sister he loves so dearly so broken. It makes him hate Jon because Rickon knows this is his fault. He broke his sister’s heart and Rickon’s not sure if he could ever forgive Jon for that. 

When Rickon enters the lounge, Sansa is sitting curled up against one end of the sofa with a blanket cocooned around her. She looks so tiny. He hates seeing her like this so in spite of being sixteen and almost a man with a reputation to uphold, he drops on the sofa and curl into her like he was six again. 

“Hey,” Sansa chuckles softly as she wraps an arm around him. He’s getting too tall for this but he doesn’t care. His sister is hurting and he needs to help. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Rickon hums, resting his head against her shoulder. “You don’t come home that much anymore.”

Sansa’s face falls. “I know. I’m sorry. Work is crazy and I promise I’ll –” 

“Sans, it’s alright,” he says, feeling bad for making _her_ feel bad. “I was just observing. Are your shifts really bad?” 

“No, it’s... I’m in pediatrics right now and that’s really nice,” she says but he heard her, that falter at the beginning. He knows what she’s thinking without having to ask because he may hate Jon right now but Sansa loved him with everything she had. He’s not a particularly romantic teenager. He’s still in that stage where all he can notice about a girl are her boobs, which he knows distantly is really horrible because he has two headstrong sisters who would kill him if they knew that’s how he’s been reducing the girls in his class to but his hormones are out of whack and it’s honestly hard to focus on much else right now. So yeah, romance is completely not on his radar at all but he’s not stupid. Jon and Sansa dated for years and they’ve probably loved each other for longer. Everyone could tell. When they looked at each other, it was like they were seeing the sun for the first time or the ocean or whatever that makes people that blindingly besotted. A part of him is glad Sansa at least found that kind of love in her lifetime but he’s also angry on her behalf that she lost it too. She deserves the world. 

“Is that where you want to be?” Rickon asks after realising he’s been silent for too long.

Sansa shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She turns her head to look at him. “You don’t have to check up on me. I’m… _managing_.” 

Of course his sister knows exactly what he’s doing. She always could read him. Rickon sighs. “Are you?” 

She’s quiet for a long while that it makes Rickon a bit antsy. “No,” she finally whispers softly, heartbreakingly anguished. “No, I’m not.” 

Rickon nods, not knowing what else to say. He shifts so he can wrap his arms around his sister. “You will be though.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs before falling asleep a few minutes later, and in that moment, Rickon decides that love _sucks_. 

** Ygritte **

As soon as she enters the pub, she’s assaulted by a loud raucous shout from the corner where a group of burly men are watching the football. Ygritte rolls her eyes and continues forward until she spots him slumped at a lone table, gripping onto his pint like it’s his lifeline. She walks forward, dodging the stumbling drunks, and drops into the seat across from him.

“When the bartender calls your ex-girlfriend to come and drag you home then that’s a sign that your life is really bloody pathetic,” she says, mild, watching him curiously. “What the fuck is up with you?” 

Jon snorts, lifts his eyes to glance at her and then looks back down at his pint. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she tells him. “You’re the farthest thing from fine.”

“Go home, Ygritte,” he says, sounding exasperated, but he’s also scowling at his pint so it’s really hard to get a read on his emotional state right now. She just knows he’s clearly _not_ fine and he hasn’t been for two months. 

“Not without you so either come now or you can finish your pint and tell me what’s really going on.” But she already knows what’s going on. Everyone bloody knows and it’s really honestly the last thing she wants to do right now because listening to her ex-boyfriend talk about his other ex-girlfriend is not exactly fun for her. But it’s also been years since Jon and her broke up so it’s not like she’s jealous or hurting still. She just really hates talking about emotional shit. 

“I…” Jon starts, and for a second, Ygritte thinks she’s going to have to beat the truth out of him, but he sighs again. “I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure you did. So what happened?”

He flashes her a scowl before it falters and then he just looks broken. “I kept pushing her away. I knew I was doing it too. That’s the fucked up thing, right? I _knew_ I was pushing her out and I still did it.” 

“You did that with me too,” Ygritte says gently, which isn’t really a state of being that she’s used to but there’s something wild about the way Jon looks right now, like if she said the wrong thing, he’d bolt. 

He smiles faintly. “I know.” 

“You want to hear my theory?” she hedges because why the hell not? There’s no guarantee he’ll even remember this in the morning.

“Yeah, why not?” 

Ygritte snorts. “You’re scared she’ll leave you anyways. I mean it’s understandable, sort of. You grew up knowing your father wanted nothing to do with you and your mum, and then your mum dies when you’re fourteen. You’ve had to do _everything_ on your own. So letting someone else into your life, having them play a major part in your decisions and shit, yeah, that frightens you, Jon. You don’t want to go through all of that again.” 

“Huh,” he says, studying her quietly. “When did _you_ get so smart?” He flourishes his hands around, nearly knocking the pint off of the table.

“I’ve always been smarter than you,” Ygritte says, pulling the pint towards the centre just in case. “It’s not really hard to be smarter than you. You know nothing, Jon Snow.” 

He laughs but there’s no real humour in it. “I miss her,” Jon says quietly, thumping his forehead down. “I miss her so fucking much, Ygritte. She’s… She’s _Sansa_.” He suddenly sits bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at her. “Oh. Oh. I shouldn’t say that to you, right? You’re my ex!” 

“Jon, we dated when we were seventeen,” she laughs loudly. “I’m fairly sure I’m over you.”

“Right… of course,” he nods gravely. “Then yeah, I bloody miss her. It’s like… With her, everything finally made _sense_. You know? And I fucked it all up. She thinks I don’t trust her but she’s the only opinion that matters.” 

“Fucking hell, Jon, then go tell her!” Ygritte snaps. 

Okay, she _is_ over him and she really doesn’t want to date Jon ever again but she can’t help the spark of irrational jealousy. She’s fine on her own, she really is, because she has a great job she loves, friends she loves and she’s independent. She _likes_ being alone. But the fact she can’t ever imagine someone loving her as much as Jon loves Sansa kind of stings a little. It’s stupid and totally irrational because she’s awesome. Why wouldn’t someone love her? Right?

Jon nods and jumps to his feet, swaying and nearly toppling into the next table. Ygritte sighs, standing up too. “Okay, lover boy, maybe tomorrow. Let’s get you home to sleep this off first.”

** Jeyne **

Sansa is her best friend, the greatest person she knows, but holy shit is her friend also dense as a fucking log. It’s the only reason why she would willingly go out on a date when she’s still so clearly, pathetically in love with Jon. She’s not ready to move on – nor does Jeyne think she should because those two are the real deal – and this date is a supremely bad idea. But does she listen? No, of course Princess Sansa bloody Stark won’t listen to Jeyne. 

It’s why she can justifiably march over to Jon’s flat and demand he go win her best friend back because four months is four months too bloody long for them to go without each other. It’s not that she’s worried Sansa’s going to have such an amazing date she’ll forget about Jon because that is laughable, but it’s the fact that Sansa is so desperate right now to feel _anything_ that she would conceivably date someone to just forget how much she’s hurting. 

The door peels open a couple seconds after Jeyne starts pounding on the frame. Jon is standing there in ratty sweats and a thin shirt with holes at the collar. He looks like a really handsome homeless man. “Jeyne?” he squints at her. “What – is Sansa okay?” His eyes suddenly widen and every muscle in his body tenses simultaneously like he’s readying himself to go to battle. Jeyne rolls her eyes. At least now she knows they’re both equally as pathetic as each other. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s healthy, ten toes, ten fingers,” Jeyne tells him and watches smugly as he visibly deflates. 

“So what… um, what are you doing here?” 

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she begins quickly. “There’s no easy way to say this. Sansa’s going on a date. Tonight.” 

Jon’s face wilts, dying right before her eyes, and it pains her so despairingly she reaches out to grab a hold of his hand. “Her heart’s not in it, Jon,” Jeyne assures him. “She still loves you. But you need to… You need to show her you still love her too.” 

“Of course I still love her,” he replies forcefully. “But that wasn’t our problem. If she wants to… If this is what she needs then she should do it.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jeyne throws her hands up in the air. “You’re both so _dumb_!” 

“Hey!” 

“No, stop it, you are!” she shouts. “I’m so sick and tired of both of you pining away for each other instead of just talking like bloody adults. Put on some shoes and go out and fight for her. This cowardly thing you’re doing,” she gestures to his whole body, “is not you.” 

Jon rubs his chin with one hand. “She deserves better than me.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jeyne bites out because she’s pissed off and he deserves that for being so obtuse. “But she chose _you_. All she needs is some indication that you still want her too.” 

“Yeah… I, um… I have to go. It’s nice seeing you again, Jeyne.” 

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to kill him then kill Sansa. She’s going to kill them both before they put her in an early grave. 

** Robb **

The thing is Robb had a plan. It was a very intricate plan to get Jon and Sansa back together because over four months with those miserable sods was just beginning to grate on everyone’s nerves. He was going to invite them both to the Stark cabin in the Lake District and lock them in there together for a whole weekend. It was going to be super romantic and brilliant and then they’d both owe him for the rest of their lives. Their firstborn would be named Robb Junior. It was all going to be awesome. 

So of course as most of Robb’s plans goes, it completely falls apart when he goes to visit Jon at the fire brigade station and he realises that not only is his best friend not alone but his baby sister is there with him. He thinks about ducking out but he’s also too curious for his own good at times. 

“You’re okay,” Sansa breathes out and the relief on her face is so palpable Robb instinctively sighs with her even though he really has no idea what’s going on. 

“What are you doing here?” Jon’s voice is hesitant, wary even, but Robb’s known the man since he was five years old and his best friend is practically bursting with being able to see her again. 

“Edd texted me. He…” Her voice breaks and she muffles a sob behind her palm. Jon’s instantly at her side, gripping her shoulders, as the tears rush down from her face. “He said you were in the hospital. That you got hurt in a house fire.” 

Understanding rushes over both Jon and him. His best friend smiles softly. “I’m okay, Sans. Look at me, I’m here. It wasn’t anything. They just wanted to check me over but I only have a couple bruised ribs. Nothing serious.” 

She nods and then without warning, she punches him in the shoulder. Even Robb has to wince from where he’s standing. “You asshole!” 

“What?” Jon looks affronted and he steps back instinctively from his raging sister. Robb’s a little proud of her. 

“ _Four months_ , Jon,” she yells at him. “I haven’t seen you in four months and it takes your coworker texting me that you’re in the hospital to bring us together? Do you know how stupid that is?” 

“Yeah,” Jon mumbles, looking at the ground. 

“Yeah,” Sansa repeats, the anger suddenly leaving her, and now she just looks young and vulnerable. Like when she was a gangly ten-year-old and crashed her bike and Robb had to carry her home. He had been so worried then, every whimper of pain a piercing stab into his own body, and he feels that way now. But he can’t carry her pain now any more than he could then. 

“I should – I’ll leave you alone then.” Sansa turns to leave but Jon immediately grabs her wrist and pulls her back. 

“Don’t. Sans, please,” he says softly, almost too softly for Robb to hear. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t _want_ to do this anymore.” 

Sansa isn’t looking at him and she doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry. You were right. I did push you away. As soon as I found out they were going to charge me with assault, I should’ve come to you. You shouldn’t have had to find out from Petyr to begin with. But even though I knew they had no evidence against me, I just didn’t want you to see me like that… It’s hard for me to let people in,” Jon admits, his hand still wrapped around Sansa’s wrist. “But it’s harder to not be with you.” 

“We can’t do this if you don’t trust me, Jon.”

He tugs her again so she has to look at him. “I do trust you. I always have. I just didn’t trust myself not to screw it up.” 

His sister laughs a little. “You’re a grumpy idiot.” 

“I know that,” Jon laughs too. “Robb tells me everyday.” 

Robb smiles because that’s true. He totally does. Who else would if not for him? 

The silence stretches on for a long while as the two stand there staring at each other. “I missed you too,” Sansa eventually says. “But I can’t do this if you’re not sure, Jon. I can’t go through all of this again. You _broke_ my heart.”

“I know, I know.” Jon rushes forward so he’s cradling her face in his hands. “And I’m in this completely. I want this. I want _you._ Sans, you have to know you’re it for me.”

“Yeah?” she asks, the insecurity so audible there Robb has to bite his tongue to keep from jumping in to rally for his sister. But as Jon rests his forehead against hers, Robb realises he doesn’t need to.

“Yeah,” Jon answers. “There’s never been anyone else.” 

“So we’re doing this again?” 

“If you’ll have me,” he says, pulling back to look at her. She smiles and it’s this inexplicable brightness that makes her seem so breathtakingly ephemeral Robb is a little floored by this side of his sister. Jon kisses her then, at first slow and sweet, but that soon gives out to something more desperate and needy, with hands carding and tugging through hair and pulling at clothes. Robb immediately turns around because like hell is he going to stand there and watch his best friend and his _baby_ sister fuck right there on the floor. For his very delicate sensibilities, both his sisters are still virgins and Robb would like to continue to believe that for the foreseeable future.

Before he completely exits the station though, he hears Sansa one last time. 

“You’re it for me too.” 


	7. You Did What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: All I want from life is overprotective Jon Snow threatening Gendry over Arya with Sansa nodding fervently in agreement (via fandomqueenishere on tumblr)

****"You _kidnapped_ Arya’s boyfriend?” Sansa screeches down the line, forcing Jon to hold the phone at arm’s length until he’s sure her voice has lowered a few more decibels. “... the stupidest thing you have ever done! And that includes punching Joffrey in my ‘honour’!”

His lips twitch. He’s suddenly very glad Sansa can’t see him right now, but she’d be hard-pressed to find him feeling guilty over it. Simply put, punching Joffrey Baratheon is easily one of the best things Jon’s ever done and that includes becoming a fireman. The man’s a prick that screwed Sansa over. He’s just lucky Jon got to him before Robb did – which is kind of why he’s in this predicament, to begin with.

“I didn’t do _anything_ ,” Jon reassures her futilely. “Robb invited him out and force fed him whiskey. If I didn’t intervene, your brother was going to end up killing him.”

Sansa makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. He can practically see his girlfriend rolling her eyes in disdain and frustration right now. “Uhuh, so why is Gendry locked in our basement?”

“He’s not _locked in_ so much as the lock broke and now he’s stuck,” Jon tells her, but he doubts the clarification is going to put her at ease. 

“Right... God, Jon, this is my day off. I really don’t want to be dealing with this right now.” And the defeated sigh he hears from her makes him ache with guilt because he knows better than anyone how exhausted she is after every shift. Her days off are sacred and Jon _usually_ does everything in his power to make them relaxing for her. But this is really not his fault. 

“I’m sorry, Sans,” Jon says emphatically. “You know I wouldn’t –” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sansa cuts him off. “I’ll be home in ten minutes. Please try not to kill him in the meantime.” 

+++

Twenty-five minutes later, Jon is leaning against the door leading to the basement with a cup of tea in one hand. Sansa has her head resting on his shoulder an identical mug in hers. It’s pathetically cute how domestic they’ve become since moving in together three months ago, but he’ll take pathetic if it means waking up to her every morning.

“We’re sorry, Gendry. The lock guy is coming over to fix it soon but since it’s a weekend, it might take awhile,” Sansa calls out.

“It’s okay,” comes the muffled voice. It’s deep and soft, kind of like the man himself – all hard lines and bulky frame but a gentle calmness about him that makes Jon wonder if this really is the man for Arya. He expected someone louder – someone more adventurous and spontaneous like her. 

“I don’t mind waiting.” 

“While you’re here,” Jon begins because he loves Arya like a sister and he’s always been a little stupid when it comes to her. She’s definitely the toughest woman he knows but that doesn’t mean he’d ever stop trying to protect her. “What are your intentions with Arya?”

“ _Jon_!” Sansa slaps his shoulder. 

“What?” He gives her a look before angling his face towards the door. “Look, Gendry, you seem like a nice guy. It’s nothing against you but when Arya likes someone, she puts her everything into it and I don’t want you to... If this isn’t serious for you, if this is just some fling then I suggest you break it off now.”

Despite Sansa’s initial protest, Jon finds her nodding along with him all the same. She shrugs when he gives her a questioning look, only pressing her lips gently to his cheek and wiping at the spot with the pad of her thumb.

For a second, Jon almost forgets that Gendry is here. Sansa has always had that effect on him. One look, one kiss, one seemingly innocent touch on the shoulder can render him completely senseless – or rather, his senses are so overwhelmed with Sansa, it’s nearly impossible for him to focus on anything else.

“I... I love her.” 

Jon’s eyes flicker back to the door and then to Sansa, and again for good measure. It’s not what he expected at all, and by the dumbfounded expression on Sansa’s face, it’s not what she expected either.

“Okay then,” Jon calls back. “Good. But break her heart and we’ll –” 

“No offense, Jon, but I’m more terrified of what _Arya_ will do to me if I break her heart than you or Robb.” 

Sansa’s bright, surprised laugh rings in the air. She shakes her head. “At least we know Arya found someone who understands her.”

“Yeah,” Jon chuckles back. He leans forward to press a lingering kiss to her lips. “And if she has a tenth of what we have then I’m not worried.” 

“I love you too, you big idiot.”

It takes another half hour before the locksmith arrives to spring Gendry loose from his basement prison. The man immediately barges past them, a sheepish smile on his face, as he races towards the bathroom.

And by the time the door is completely fixed, Arya’s already over, yelling at Jon and making promises to kill Robb, all the while Gendry looks on with fond amusement, a hand to her back in a placating manner.

Maybe he _is_ good for her. Maybe Gendry can be the calm that Arya needs, the way that Sansa is his.

If so, they have his blessing.


	8. Nudity Clause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.“

Sansa Stark is one of a handful of actresses that doesn’t get naked on his show. It’s not exactly revolutionary for an actress to refuse to show their body for the world to see but on his show, it is quite a novelty. Some of the crewmen like to make lewd comments about her and call her a prude behind her back, which Jon tries to stomp down as much as he can, but men are assholes. There’s only so much Jon can do short of just punching them whenever they start on Sansa, and he’s been tempted to a few times too, especially when the lewd comments become too graphic. It’s disgusting how some people feel they can talk about another human being that way and Jon hates it with a burning passion. He’s never been one of those guys that like to boast about the women they’ve slept with. Even at school when having bragging rights like that was what made you popular. It’s just not something he does. He was raised to _respect_ women. 

It gives him a reputation around the set. People tend to avoid him anyways because he’s an award-winning actor and he has the kind of face that makes people think he’s one of those pretentious method actors. He’s really not but he doesn’t mind the solitude. Truth is, Jon’s just awkward around new people. There’s a reason why he likes acting so much – he doesn’t have to be himself for awhile. It’s nice to fall into a character and forget about his own insecurities or shortcomings. But he was taught to respect women and he was taught to stand up for what’s right so him coming out of his proverbial shell to yell at the crew gives him quite the ‘diva’ reputation. Not that he cares. Jon’s a white, straight man in Hollywood with a six-pack and a pretty face. He’s going to get jobs. 

Sansa, on the other hand, is young and new; plucked straight from drama school before she could graduate. She’s beautiful – there’s hardly any doubt about that – and talented but she’s a dime a dozen in the acting pond. She can’t afford to be anything but sweet and polite with the crew, so Jon does it for her. He doesn’t have an ulterior motive. He barely has any scenes with her. He’d do it for any of the other women he works with, but okay, maybe he is a little more protective of her because maybe he’s intrigued by the steely glint in her eyes or the way she practically whimpers when she hears there are lemon cakes at the crafts table. It’s a stupid crush but even if he didn’t like her, he’d still defend her right to not be naked, so it’s a complete surprise to him when he does find her standing there in the middle of his trailer _completely_ naked save for a pair of pink polkadot underwear. 

“Oh,” she says when he walks into the trailer. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” Her tone is casual, as if she’s simply greeting him in passing on the set, but there’s a pleasant flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. It’s making it extremely hard for Jon not to look below her neckline to see how far that flush might extend to. 

“I… uh, we finished early,” is all he can manage but good lord if she doesn’t cover up soon, Jon’s going to have a really mortifying bodily reaction to her. 

Sansa nods. She looks around the trailer and sighs. “The piping in my trailer broke so I couldn’t take a shower and I had all this fake blood on me. I _needed_ to shower. I’m meeting my family for dinner. I can’t go to dinner looking like an extra on the set of Carrie, you know?” She’s looking at him like it’s not a rhetorical question so he nods vigorously in response. “Right, and… Well, your trailer’s the closest and they said you’d be filming till late in the evening, and…” She’s as red as her hair now and that makes Jon smile in spite of the odd situation he’s now in. “I didn’t think you’d mind. You’re the nicest one on set.”

“What?” Jon inclines his head in confusion because that’s definitely not the reputation he knows he has. 

“Jon,” Sansa sighs. “I know what you do for me. You’re not exactly subtle and the makeup girls talk. You know they say that… that you have a crush on me or something, which is silly, right? Because you’re _Jon Snow_ and I’m just me and – what?”

“Okay,” he breathes out, closing his eyes, because it’s now just way too much for him to handle. He tried being a gentleman because he sees male and female nudity all of the time on the show but this is Sansa. It really is just _too_ much. “I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.” 

“Oh!” she squeaks, and he hears rustling before she says, “you can look now.” 

Jon opens his eyes to see her in a pale blue sleeveless dress and it really isn’t helping at all because she’s as beautiful with clothes on as she is without. This is bloody ridiculous. “Um… so you were saying?” He honestly really didn’t hear a word of what she said. Something about a piping and him being nice and makeup girls. 

“You have a crush on me,” Sansa murmurs, stepping in close. Jon swallows, which makes her smile tentatively. “Don’t you?” 

“No,” he answers too quickly. “I mean… I wouldn’t call it a crush, more like… you’re really talented and it’s easy to be interested in you. Everyone is.”

“But _you’re_ interested in me?” 

She’s way too close now and he’s way too human not to notice the way her pupils are dilating as she looks at him. God, he’s totally gone and he doesn’t even care that coworkers dating coworkers is the worst idea ever, but they really don’t have many scenes together so fuck it, _fuck it_.

He must’ve said that out loud because she’s smirking by the time he captures her lips with his. He can feel it against him and it makes him laugh into her mouth. As first kisses go, it’s not great because they’re both laughing and there’s a lot of clashing of teeth, but when they pull back, her hands are around his neck, tracing patterns against the nape of his neck, and she’s pressed against his chest. It’s not great but it’s perfect. 

 


	9. Consume Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa doesn’t want to be found. She just wants to let the hurt consume her but she knew eventually someone would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no prompt. just had a masochistic need to write a painful one shot for once.

The air was frigid, unrelenting as the wind wuthered against the half-built ramshackle house. Even with the hearth crackling and spitting fire, winter prevailed like a dark beast made of ice and grief. Sansa could see the sun smothered by thick grey clouds beginning to descend beyond the rolling hills from the window. She empathised with the sun. Her own vibrance was now confined and imprisoned by a deep woundless pain. It ached from her bones to the slow pulsing rhythm of her heart – a heart so torn and bloody she was surprised it could still beat. 

Snow crunched underneath feet, the sound a stark contrast to the howling wind outside. Sansa turned towards the door, expectant already of her visitor in spite never having told him where she was, but he always knew. 

The knock came and Sansa debated waiting to see how long it would take for him to leave. She didn’t want to face him; she didn’t want to face anyone. Everything hurt too much. It was still too raw to put on a fake smile and pretend she was okay. 

“Sans, please.” 

His voice was muffled by the wind but she could hear the way it cracked just at the edges. She couldn’t keep him out in this cold, not when she knew he was hurting just as much. Sansa lifted the latch and stepped back. Only a second passed before the door was being pushed open and in shuffled a snow-dusted man in a heavy parka. 

“It’s bloody freezing out there,” he announced, sounding loud and intrusive to the quiet Sansa had sought out here. “It’s bloody freezing in here.” 

“What do you want?” She didn’t have the time for small talk. No, that wasn’t true. Time was all she had now. So much time to think and mourn and break all over again. 

He pulled the hood from around his head and sighed. “You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“No, I shouldn’t,” Sansa agreed tightly. “I shouldn’t be alone. But I am.” 

“Sansa, that’s not true,” he quickly assured her, grabbing hold of her hand, but she just as quickly snatched it back. “C’mon. It’s not like we’re not all hurting here but we can be there for each other.”

“It’s not the same.” The anger simmered just under her skin; she didn’t want to yell at him but he didn’t get it. None of them did. “You don’t get to tell me you’re hurting too. You don’t get to tell me you _understand_ my pain because you don’t.”

His eyes flashed warningly. “That’s not fair. Don’t you think I’m just as fucking torn up inside?” 

It must say something about her that she couldn’t even feel the slightest twinge of guilt for what she said. There was no remorse, just resignation that no one would ever understand. 

“You lost your best friend, Robb, but I –“ Her voice cracked and she willed herself not to cry. “I lost _everything_. My best friend, my partner, my fiancé, my soulmate, my _future_ , Robb.” She dropped onto her knees as the tears now flowed freely down her face. 

Within seconds, her brother was beside her, arms wrapped around her trembling body as he tried to soothe her, but she couldn’t be soothed. The dam had been broken and now Sansa just wanted to let the pain in, let it consume her until there was nothing left but a numb shell of who she once was. At least then she wouldn’t have to feel anymore.

“We were going to build this house together,” Sansa whispered into Robb’s shoulder. “We were going to do it up and then get married. We had a _plan_. He was supposed to be here for the plan. What am I supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do without Jon?” 

“I don’t know, Sansa, I don’t know,” Robb said back, stroking her hair. “But you’ll get through it. You’ll be okay.” 

“I don’t want to be okay!” She shoved him away and stood up, retreating to the far side of the room, her own eyes surely ablaze with her emotions. “I just want him back! He’s supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be…” Her heart seized and Sansa grabbed the back of a nearby chair, trying to still her erratic breaths. “You don’t get it, Robb. He’s…” 

“He’s gone, Sansa,” her brother said gently. “He’s not coming back. We have to accept that.” 

Sansa inhaled deeply through her nose. “I know. I know that.” Of course she knew that. She stayed by his hospital bed for ten agonising days before Jon finally succumbed to his injuries. She held his hand as he breathed his last breath, watched as the light faded from his eyes and the colour drained from his skin. But that’s not even what hurt the most. 

“He was supposed to be a father, Robb,” Sansa confessed quietly, a hand instinctively going out to press over her flat stomach. “But now… he’ll never be.” 

Robb’s eyes widened almost comically before he raced forward to grasp both of her hands. “You’re pregnant?” She nodded. “Shit. Holy shit. Sansa, that’s wonderful! No, wait, I know how scary this must be without Jon but you’re not alone. We’re all going to help but don’t you see how great this is?”

She must look incredulous because Robb laughed. 

“You have a piece of him with you now. Jon will never really be gone if there’s a kid of his out there in the world. Sans, you’ll _always_ have him. He’ll be there in the kid.”

“Really?” Sansa hadn’t even thought about that. Frankly, she hadn’t thought about anything beyond the devastating realisation that her child would never get the chance to meet their father, but maybe Robb was right. Maybe it wouldn’t matter because Sansa would tell them. She’d let them know just how wonderful their father was, how kind and loyal, how honourable, how _loving_. She’d tell them that there wasn’t a single thing on this planet Jon wouldn’t do for the people he loved. 

“Of course, Sans.” 

“A piece of him,” she repeated, staring down at her stomach, marvelling that inside there was something that was half her and half Jon. This tiny thing was the result of a decade of love and friendship between two people destined for each other. It didn’t ease the grief still curling around her heart but it gave her hope that her future might not be so lost. 

“Will you come home now?” Robb asked, taking her hand. “We miss you.” 

Sansa looked up, a small tentative smile on her lips, the first in what felt like months. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come home.” 

After all, this ramshackle house wasn’t her home anymore. She didn’t need it as a reminder of Jon. She had one better, one that was now growing safely in her womb. 


	10. Twist of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is forced to spend the holidays with her brother and his friends at a remote cabin in Scotland, but when Jon comes back from a walk injured, Sansa volunteers to stay behind and look after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the jonsa valentines challenge that i never posted up

Sansa didn’t want to be here. She was supposed to be skiing, _not_ stuck in a cabin with Robb and his stupid little friends, and she wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Arya and _her_ stupid little mouth. Now Joffrey was up there without her and Margaery was going to get her well-manicured paws all over him. It wasn’t fair. She was _seventeen_ ; what was so wrong with a co-ed trip? It wasn’t as if they were all going to be sharing a room and bathing naked together. Her parents were just overreacting. Sansa was positive Robb had gone on his first co-ed trip with his friends around her age. This was sexism!

“Are you still pouting about your dumb trip?”

The door slammed shut, letting in a blast of cold air. Robb walked the four steps from the door to the kitchen island and plopped himself on a stool in front of her. Sansa recoiled from the proximity, still furious with her brother, and pulled the bowl of cereal with her.

“Sans, c’mon,” Robb said, pleadingly. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than being alone over Christmas.”

Sansa fixed him with her darkest scowl. “I’d rather be alone.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Robb rolled his eyes at her antics and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is the best out of a bad situation.”

When she didn’t offer up a response, Robb sighed and walked past her towards the corridor adjacent to the open kitchen. She heard his room shut softly with a click. Distantly, she could admit he was right, but with her current mood, Sansa refused to acknowledge anything Robb was saying. She didn’t care that the rest of her family had pre-booked a holiday to Spain for the holidays, excluding her since she was supposed to be in Switzerland. She didn’t care that realistically there was no way Eddard and Catelyn Stark were going to let their seventeen-year-old daughter stay home alone in a big manor. She didn’t even care that Robb had graciously offered to let her tag along with him and his friends to a cabin in the north of Scotland and that one of his friends had relented his own room to let Sansa have a bed.

No, at this moment, Sansa didn’t care about anything. She was mad; she was bored; she was so unbelievably cold she could hardly feel her fingers. Where was the heating in this bloody place?

The door opened again and several more people filed in. Sansa recognised some, childhood friends of Robb, but the others she assumed must be people from university that she didn’t know. A couple of girls smiled at her before disappearing down the same corridor Robb had gone down only moments ago. But two remained and they walked up to the island.

“Morning,” Theon said, leering, which made Sansa want to throw up her cereal right then and there. She smiled tightly in greeting. A second later, after realising she wasn’t going to offer him anymore, Theon sighed. “Right, I’ll just go then.”

Her shoulders relaxed as soon as he was gone. Sansa looked towards the last remaining person.

Jon was busy typing something into his phone but sensing that she was staring, he looked up, grey eyes meeting blue. “Sorry. That’s rude of me.” He pocketed his phone and offered her a sincere smile. “Coco pops?” At her blank stare, Jon chuckled softly. “Your cereal.”

Sansa looked down at her bowl. “Oh. Yeah, coco pops.”

“Good,” was all Jon said for awhile, then he smiled again. “I knew those were your favourite. Made Theon grab them when we found out you were coming with.”

 _That_ took Sansa by surprise. She stared, unblinkingly, at Jon for a long second, before her brain finally caught up to her. “How do you know that?”

Jon shrugged. “I’ve had enough breakfasts at your house to know.”

“But I doubt Robb even knows that.”

“He wouldn’t know if a horse wandered into your house if it’s early enough,” Jon told her, and just like that, she laughed. For the first time in days since her parents forbade her to go on the Switzerland trip, Sansa truly, _truly_ laughed. It was so freeing and so jarring because of _who_ had made her laugh that she blushed involuntarily.

Jon smiled again and stood up. “We’re going for a walk down by the lake if you want to join.” But they both knew she wouldn’t join. “Anyway, enjoy your coco pops.”

He walked towards the corridor and was almost out of sight when Sansa suddenly spoke up again, much to her own surprise. “Thank you, Jon, for the room. I know the couch isn’t ideal so… thank you.”

“It’s no matter.”

A second later, a door clicked shut.

Their walk around the lake took much of the afternoon, that when they eventually returned, the sun was already beginning to set just beyond the white-dusted mountains. Sansa was sitting in a cocoon of blankets, reading, when they all walked in, trailing dirt and twigs into the cabin, but instead of being disgusted, making some snide comment to Robb, Sansa’s eyes widened when Robb and Theon assisted Jon in through the door. He looked a mess with snow in his hair and all over his coat. His face was contorted in pain, cursing loudly when the two boys unceremoniously dropped him onto the couch in front of Sansa.

“What happened!”

“Slipped down a mountainside, didn’t ya, sunshine?” Robb laughed, poking Jon on the shoulder. He earned a colourful swear word and a kick to the shins for that.

“One minute he was there then, _woosh_ , he was gone,” Theon added with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

Sansa rolled her eyes at this. She began to reach forward for Jon’s hand when she stopped herself, wondering why she would want to do that. Instead, to avoid any repeat momentary lapses, Sansa placed her hands on her lap, wrapping them tightly around her book. “Are you okay?” she asked instead.

Jon shrugged, wincing as he did so. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aye and I’m the Queen of England,” Robb snorted. “You took a right tumble there, Jon.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jon said, emphasising each syllable with exasperation. His eyes hardened and he tried to stand to show he was, in fact, fine, but Robb quickly pushed him back down on the couch.

“No, you’re not, and you won’t be moving again for the rest of the night,” Robb said, all traces of humour gone. “We can stay in tonight.”

It occurred to Sansa that watching Jon fall down the side of a mountain must have wrecked Robb’s nerves in the process. They were more than just friends; they were brothers. Something she had seen firsthand when Jon had lost his mother and Robb had been there for every moment of that horrible time. Sansa was twelve then, too young to understand what loss really meant, but Robb was there, always there, and likewise, Jon was always there for Robb.

So Sansa stood up, letting the blankets pool to the floor, and closed the small distance so she was stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her brother. The time for spoiled, bratty Sansa was gone; she was loyal above all else, even if it rarely showed, and she cared a far greater deal than she let people know about the welfare of others.

“It’s okay, Robb,” Sansa said, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I’ll look after him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t move an inch from the couch.”

Robb glanced at her with a speculative frown. “Are you sure, Sans? It’s okay, you know. We can just go into town tomorrow night. I’ll ring Jeyne and Lysel and tell them to come back.”

“No, don’t be silly.” Sansa placed her hands on her hips. “Go. I’ll look after him.”

“You both realise I’m sitting right here, right?” Jon grumbled.

Robb placed a hand on his head and patted. “Shhh, the adults are speaking.” Jon jerked his head but winced again from the sudden movement.

“Go, Robb,” Sansa immediately said to avoid her brother’s indecision. It took a further twenty minutes to finally coax both Robb and Theon to leave, but finally, they were alone, and that knowledge made her suddenly very aware of Jon. This didn’t escape Jon either as he shifted uncomfortably, glancing up at her and glancing away again.

“Look, Sansa, you don’t have to… I’ll be okay here,” he mumbled awkwardly and raised one hand to rub at the back of his neck.

Sansa chewed at her bottom lip, debating on what she was going to say next, but the pain on his face was enough to convince her to just do it. “I lied to Robb,” she announced quickly before she lost her nerve. “I _am_ going to make you move from this couch.” Jon tilted his head in adorable confusion and it drove all the doubts from her mind in one breathy chuckle. “I’m moving you to the bed, Jon. You can’t sleep out here when your back is clearly in pain… and don’t bother arguing because I won’t have it. C’mon.”

Jon opened his mouth anyways to speak but she shook her head adamantly, angling her body so she could shoulder most of his weight. He hesitated for a second but sighed, placing an arm around her. The warmth from his body made Sansa flush for reasons she’d rather not examine right now and she was glad for the curtain of red hair that shielded her from his gaze. Together, they moved, slowly, but steadily to her bedroom. She gently helped him under the duvet and placed it up to his chin.

“Now stay here and I’ll go make you some dinner.”

Once the somewhat slightly burnt pasta was consumed, Sansa took their bowls and got up from the chair she had been sitting by his bedside to leave. She didn’t look forward to sleeping on the couch but she wasn’t going to subject Jon to that either. Only when Sansa tried to walk away she was abruptly tugged back by a hand around her wrist.

“Stay.”

This time, there was no hair to hide her flushed cheeks. “What? Jon, you’re…”

“I’m fine,” he repeated. “And I wasn’t raised to let a girl sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly good bed here.”

“But…”

“We’re just sharing a bed,” Jon assured her. “I promise I’ll keep to my side.” A faint smirk played on his lips and that made her blood run hot under her skin. Did he do that on purpose? Was he being oblivious or was he toying with her?

As Sansa settled in on the other side of the bed, body frozen with fear and anticipation, she realised _she_ was the oblivious one, because somehow over the past couple of years, Jon had grown from the awkward, gangly boy she knew to a very broad, very strong man. A man who looked at her like she was as precious as a ruby. A man who made her feel wonderful, terrifying things in the deepest parts of her body, and lying in bed with him was, quite frankly, torture. Sansa shifted to her side, back towards him, then when that didn’t lure her to sleep, she shifted again to stare up at the ceiling. When Sansa tried to shift again for the third time, a hand wrapped around her forearm.

“Sansa,” Jon breathed out, the only sound in the whole cabin. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I can’t sleep.”

There was a beat of silence, before, “are you uncomfortable around me?”

“No, no, that’s not it, it’s just –” Sansa sighed. “Yes. A little.”

“Would you rather sleep on the couch?” Jon turned so he was facing her; she only knew that because she could feel the bed move underneath him and the warmth of his gaze on her face.

Sansa turned too and searched for his grey eyes in the dark. She took a deep breath and forced herself to say, “no.”

There was another beat of silence before she felt his thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone. Sansa inhaled sharply, feeling her heart quicken and body tighten with that same exhilarating sense of anticipation.

When Jon spoke next, she could feel his breath on her skin. “Am I making you uncomfortable now?”

She shook her head, belatedly realising he might not be able to see her. “No.”

The feel of his lips on her cheek startled her but when they travelled in light, feathery kisses along the line of her jaw to her already-parted lips, Sansa was ready. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, not wanting to jostle him too much, and leaned into the kiss as best as she could. It was altogether too much and too little for her body to handle. Sansa wanted to throw every jittering nerve, every confused emotion and frightening hope into the kiss, but he was injured and that thought was enough to sober her from pushing him too far.

“Comfortable now?” Jon asked. She could hear the smirk on his lips so she leaned forward and answered him with another, softer, quicker kiss. “Guess you are,” he chuckled. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest, so she was lying with her head tucked underneath his chin. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Night, Jon.”


	11. Simply Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are locked in a public library and Robb is too busy to come and help them, so Jon has to amuse himself in other ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jonsa valentines challenge

_Copper_. That’s what Sansa’s hair reminded him of. Brilliant copper coins. It wasn’t exactly poetic, nor did Jon think it would make Sansa swoon at his feet for voicing this comparison, but that was simply what he thought of when he looked at her. Normally, Jon didn’t have much cause to look at Sansa. Being that she was Robb’s _baby_ sister, Jon had very little reason to look at her and he had kept it that way for however long he had known the Starks. It was easy, at least at first. Sansa was annoying, always had been, with her _holier-than-thou_ attitude, but sometime in the past couple years, her personality had matured and aged with grace. At twenty-three, she was a woman with astute blue eyes and lips that curved distastefully whenever someone was being disrespectful. It never mattered who they were being disrespectful towards, or whether she even knew them, Sansa had a way of showing her judgement that cut straight through to a person. Where this maturity came from, Jon didn’t know, and he suspected she had kept the reason hidden from not just him. This Sansa though was harder to ignore.

Of course it didn’t help that they were both stuck in a public library after the custodian had locked them in.

Jon sighed heavily, eyes still ever-watchful of the redhead sitting three tables down from him, as he leaned back in his chair. He was dumb enough to leave his phone at his flat, but in his defence, Jon had been receiving a call every hour on the hour for the past day. If he had known becoming a park ranger would invite so much media attention, Jon might not have joined up.

Sansa tossed her phone onto the table with a loud clatter. She let out a low growl of frustration that did funny things to Jon’s pulse. A second later, her eyes snapped up to his, feeling his gaze on her face. “No one’s home. And Robb’s being a prick.”

“What’s new?” Jon immediately said, which made Sansa’s lips twitch faintly. _Interesting_ , he thought. He wondered if he could make them do that again. Jon allowed the front two legs of his chair to drop to the ground with a soft thud. He leaned forward on the table. “What did he say?”

“Said he’s in the cinema and he’ll ring back,” Sansa answered. She mirrored him and leaned forward with both hands on the table. “Apparently he’s waited all month for a date with some girl.”

“Jeyne,” Jon provided for her. “He has been.” He leaned again on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “But aye, you’re right. He is a prick.” Again, her lips twitched and Jon felt renewed determination to make her smile fully. If he was going to be stuck here, at least he could entertain himself.

“What are you doing at the library on a Saturday night?” Jon asked.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed at the question. “Why wouldn’t I be at a library on a Saturday night? Why are _you_ here?”

Jon smiled, shrugging. “I ran out of books to read. Being a ranger isn’t all that exciting. We have a lot of downtime.”

That caught her interest. “Did you really save that boy?”

His smile vanished and Jon returned his chair to the ground, softly this time. “Aye,” he said and turned his gaze to the row of books to his left. What did Robb say again? Two weeks and the world would have forgotten? He could only hope.

A chair creaked, pulling Jon’s attention back. Sansa settled down in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Grand.”

Sansa frowned and tilted her head to the side, as if to say, ‘ _tell the truth, Jon_ , _I know you’re lying_.’ But he didn’t want to talk about it – not with the reporters, the journalists, the personal assistants to daytime television hosts, and not with Sansa.

“Nothing you say will leave this room,” Sansa said, and then she did something spectacularly unexpected that drove all thoughts from his mind for a split second. She reached forward and placed her hand over his, the soft weight brief, but it was enough to make Jon’s pulse thrum rapidly.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Jon said after he composed himself, but there was a look in her eyes that made him immediately bite back his words. He inhaled deeply and pulled his hand away from hers. “I almost killed the boy. Did the papers report that?” Jon held her gaze and laughed mirthlessly. “Course not. It wouldn’t make for a great story.”

“How…” Sansa cleared her throat. “How did you almost…?”

“The storm was heavy and the snow was falling so fast that it was near to impossible to see anything,” Jon said. “We should’ve found shelter and waited it out but I thought… I was dumb enough to think I could get him back that night. I was arrogant and it nearly cost both our lives.”

“But he’s _alive_ , Jon, and that is thanks to you.”

Jon shook his head. “He had a concussion because of me. I’m no hero, Sansa.”

She rolled her eyes as she stood up. For a second, Jon wondered if his self-loathing had finally pushed her away but surprise took hold instead when she walked around the table to stand before him. Sansa took his face in her hands and leaned forward.

“Jon Snow, you stupid, infuriatingly modest man,” she said. “You _are_ a hero. You saved that boy’s life and you will deal with it because that’s just the truth.” Jon opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head fervently. “No, don’t you dare argue with me.”

Jon smirked at that. “What’ll you do if I _want_ to argue with you?”

A flush rose to her cheeks and she dropped her hands to her side. “I, uh…” Sansa straightened and stepped backwards, smoothing her dress of nonexistent creases.

There were moments in everyone’s life that presented you with a choice. To take it would be to step into the unknown with the absolute knowledge that if you do there was no going back. For better or worse. This was one such moment and Jon wasn’t going to risk missing it.

He stood up slowly, allowing her the chance to move further away if she so wished, and closed the gap between them. “You didn’t answer my question, Sansa,” he said softly, but she remained silent.

When his fingers reached up tentatively to touch her cheek, Jon heard the sharp inhale of breath and concluded that there was no stopping now. He leaned forward, watching her eyes flutter shut, and pressed his lips gently to hers. _Perfect_ , Jon thought, as his hand moved from her cheek to curl around the back of her neck. They quickly found a rhythm between them, something soft and slow, _painstakingly slow_ , and so intoxicating he had half a mind to never come up for air again. But eventually Sansa pulled back and Jon inhaled deeply, a shudder running through his body from the lack of contact.

He pressed his forehead to hers and said, smirking though she couldn’t see with her eyes still closed. “I’ll agree with you for the rest of my life if this is what happens.”

Sansa laughed and pushed him away playfully. “You’re an idiot.”

“Aye,” Jon said, wrapping a hand around her wrist to tug her back into his chest. “But I’m your idiot.”

“Are you?” Sansa arched her brow in question, an expression caught between amusement and surprise.

“Aren’t I?” Jon returned, feeling momentarily doubtful of what had just transpired between them. Had he been too presumptuous? It _was_ only a kiss.

Sansa kissed him again, so swiftly her lips were gone before he could respond. “Well, good. As long as you know it.”

Jon laughed and hugged her tightly to his chest.

 _Perfect_ , he thought again.


	12. Her Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sansa goes missing after she and Jon have an argument about what to do with his parentage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old old old fic

Sansa had very specific smiles set for very specific moments. It was one of the first things Jon had learned about her upon their reunion. It was something new, something he had not encountered before in the woman. 

When they had been younger, mere wee things, green around the ears with dreams of knights and dreams of brothers in black respectively, she had one smile. It was bright and delighted in a way that was so wholly splitting it was infectious. Her laughter in the same breath was a tinkling sound, soft and melodious in the great halls of Winterfell. Jon would look towards the fiery-haired daughter of Catelyn Stark and feel envious of her easy joy; her delight in fanciful things; and the love that was so clearly vivid in her opulent gowns of her mother. All of which Jon never had. Joy was often marred with the all too familiar sense of loss and fanciful things were not afforded to the bastard son of Eddard Stark. 

But the worst of all, in that time he now considered too short and too fleeting, at Winterfell, the absence of a mother’s love had bereft him of the kind of smile that graced Sansa’s lips.

Now, time had stolen much of that easy joy and left her with an arsenal of smiles she kept at hand. Cutting smiles, impassive smiles; smiles devoid of feeling, only carefully maneuvered chess pieces in a never-ending game. Jon could not feel remorse in how she’d had to learn these smiles because for they had kept her alive long enough to return to him. She could smile a thousand smiles all of its meanings different from one another and no less sincere and he would still be glad for their ability to armour her from the realities of their world. 

But Sansa kept a special smile hidden. It was a minuscule twitch of her lips, so fleeting one could miss it, but no song or poem could aptly capture the warmth in that smile. No amount of prose on golden sunshines or warming hearths could truly do justice to the kind of smile Sansa saved for him. It was more than just beautiful; it was relief. It was the soft curve of hope, tinged pink by the promise of tomorrow. Jon could lose himself in the lines of her lips and still find new nuances to take his breath away. 

That was not the smile he had received though. This one, Jon suspected with wearying frustration, was also specifically set for him. The elegant purse and tilt was a resounding echo of Ygritte’s words, ‘ _you know nothing, Jon Snow,’_ and after all these years, Jon did know nothing. 

Somehow the reunion with Bran, the reveal of his true parentage, had unburdened something greater and more despairing than Jon could understand. Surprise had flooded Sansa’s face, widening the blues of her eyes, the little ‘ _oh_ ’ her lips made, but then surprise rescinded into happiness and then anguish. Jon could make as much sense of her emotions as he did of numbers and politics. When he asked her of it, she denied him her emotions. When he voiced his desire to step down as King of the North, she had said in that clipped, measured way of hers that he would do no such thing. And when Jon had pointed out the betrayal of the people were his true parentage ever to come to light, Sansa had suggested he tell them himself before anyone could beat him there, that Petyr Baelish still sought control of Winterfell, of her. Without missing a beat, Jon had reasserted his promise to protect her but that he could not in good conscience sit on the throne as a Targaryen. He would step down for Bran or Sansa; he would return to Castle Black once Winterfell was fully restored and safe.  

That was when she smiled that smile at him. She had said, ‘ _I will not be joining you for supper. Good night, your grace.’_  and left without another word. She was angry, that much he was sure of, but to what end, he didn’t know. Bran had offered very little insight into his sister and so Jon left the boy for his chambers. If she would not come to supper, he would not either. 

Hours passed and the wind howled outside like a pack of direwolves relinquished to some unspeakable agony. He could not find sleep, not when Sansa was still furious with him, so he pushed the furs from his body and went in search of her. When her maids informed him she had not been seen since earlier that evening, Jon began to panic. Winter was here; didn’t she know that? Was she so furious she would risk its unforgiving cold to escape him? But even as he exited the castle, he knew where she was. He had found her there on many occasions but never in the dead of night when the air was so frigid it could rip the air out of the lungs of any man. 

The Heart Tree rose from a sea of white, its face more haunting now in the darkness. Its mouth opened in a silent, frozen cry for the lost Starks. Jon rubbed his hands in futility – warmth would not come to him in this winter – but it was not the cold that had stripped his lungs of air. It was the empty Godswood. The fresh layer of snow undisturbed even by a small critter. Sansa wasn’t here, hadn’t ever been here today, which meant she was still out there somewhere. 

Jon turned around and raced to the stables, disturbing a young stable boy in his haste. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders with urgency that would surely leave bruises in the morn. “Have you seen Lady Sansa, boy?” His teeth chattered, from fear or the cold Jon didn’t know and didn’t have time to sympathise. He shook the boy once more. “Have you!” 

“N-No, your grace. But her steed is missing.” 

That stupid, _stupid_  girl. Jon ground his teeth and released the boy. He raced towards his own horse and pulled himself up, foregoing a bridle and harness. “Alert the guards. Have every available man searching the castle and the woods beyond. Lady Sansa is missing.” 

Jon steered his horse from the stables and signaled for the guard to pull open the main gates before he could reach it. The wind bit into his face like a braided whip against his skin. The temperature was nowhere near as cold as north of the wall but it would be enough to freeze a man or woman ill-prepared for this weather. But Sansa was smart. Surely, she would be okay. She _had_  to be okay. There was no other option. Jon could not withstand a reality in which she would not be okay; he could not fail her as he had failed so many others. The world needed her smiles, all of them, every scathing one, every polite one, every quietly repulsed one; they needed her more than they would ever need Jon, because for all of Jon’s experience as Lord Commander, he was not equipped to be a king here in this world. He could not play politics the way Sansa could. He could not do any of this without her. 

The horse raced against the heavy flurry of snow. Jon could not see much beyond the white but his heart still beat and there was still blood warm in his veins. He would not cease his search. He would scour these lands until he found her, and when he found her, he would wrap her tight and promise never to argue with her again. Jon couldn’t even remember what they had argued about – something about his parentage. It all seemed so foolish now. If Sansa wanted him to stay on the throne then he would, the other houses be damned. 

But as he thought that, there was a distant voice in his head telling him that that was not what had bothered her, that for all she had argued with him on the matter, something else had angered her. Only what? Sansa was the most perplexing woman he had ever met. 

A flash of fire caught his eye. No ordinary flame could withstand the kind of snow falling from the sky. It must’ve been a trick of the light, a reflection of – _Sansa_. Jon raced towards the hilltop, the red billowing like flames growing closer and closer until he could see Sansa wrapped up in her fur cloak, lying on her side as the snow fell around her. Jon didn’t hesitate to dismount and cradle her into his body. When there was no immediate response, he carried her gently to the horse and swung up after her.  

The journey back to Winterfell was thankfully swift. Torches and lanterns flickered from all the rooms of the castle as the people searched for Sansa. Jon rode through the gates. “Call for the maester! Bring him to my chambers!” He halted the horse in front of the steps, dropped down and pulled Sansa back into his arms. She was cold, so cold her lips were blue in this light, and her body fell limply against him. Jon’s heart raged against his chest. Every tremulous pulse reminded him of Sansa’s weakening beat. 

Reaching his chambers, Jon quickly placed her atop his furs. He needed to get her out of her wet clothes but even in his urgency, he still had a sense of propriety and he could not take advantage of Sansa while she was unconscious. Jon ran from his chambers and called for her maids. He waited for what felt like hours outside his own room but was probably only a few minutes. Once the maids had finished changing her, the maester arrived and Jon found himself helpless to do much else. He stood in the corner of the room, staring, watching, praying with increasing desperation for her recovery. 

It was then in this state of frozen despair that Jon realised what he had not before, why Sansa had been truly angry with him, but maybe he had always known and only denied himself it for fear of what it would mean. Jon could see now how Sansa must have seen the news of his true parentage. While he had been wallowing in his own anguish, an age-old fear of never belonging, never being a true Stark, Jon had forgotten to see what being a Targaryen could truly mean. It could mean _Sansa_. It could mean acceptance of feelings he knew now they both felt as strongly as they felt the searing pain of winter. But his denial of it, of his throne, of Winterfell and his true father, was a denial of her. Oh, if only he could turn back the time so that he may sweep her into his arms as soon as the words left Bran’s lips and show her how he would – and could – never deny her. 

“Your grace…” Jon blinked, startled by the sound, and rushed to the old maester’s side. The man inclined his head in respect. “She is weak and I fear the cold has reached her lungs but I have sent for a brew that should help. If she is kept warm, I believe she will make a full recovery.” 

Jon exhaled in relief. He listened carefully to the maester’s instructions and refused the help of the servants in caring for her. She would not return to her own chambers. No, she would stay right here. _Where she belonged_ , he quietly realised once Jon was calm enough to take in the sight of Sansa in his bed. 

The fire the servants had kindled crackled and hissed behind him. Jon slipped into the bed and angled Sansa so she was resting against his chest, lying in between his legs. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and offered his warmth for as long as she needed it. 

Jon could not tell when he had fallen asleep but he was being pulled awake when a soft hand cupped his cheek. He opened his eyes in an instant to see a weakened Sansa staring back at him. “Jon…” Her voice cracked and she coughed, turning her face away from him. 

He reached up to grip her wrist with one hand and tilt her chin to look at him with the other. “You should rest.” 

“I…” Sansa coughed once more into the sleeve of her dress. “I am rested. Jon, I must tell you something.”

“Then I must tell you something also.” 

There’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her skin was still as pale as the snow itself but Sansa was alive and that was all that mattered. He could face anything, even her, simply knowing that. 

“Let me say my piece first,” Sansa insisted and so Jon nodded in agreement. She inhaled deeply and shifted so she was settled more comfortably against him, her hands now resting lightly on his chest. “I’m sorry I ran away. There is no excuse for my reckless behaviour. I only wished to distance myself from…” 

“From me. It’s okay,” Jon assured her by tracing an invisible line across her cheek.

“It’s not, Jon,” Sansa shook her head. “You were being logical where I was being emotional. A Targaryen, whether he had grown up as Ned Stark’s bastard son or not, would still divide the houses. It is better now if you step down before someone can learn of your true parentage and let Bran become Lord of Winterfell.” She coughed again but she was not finished and she was stubborn enough to force her lungs to speak until her mind was heard. “But I was just so angry you would think of stepping down, to think yourself less worthy because of a name. I was mad that you would leave me here.” 

“Can I speak now?” Jon asked her and she nodded, her brows now creased in worry. He wished to soothe her but he had to say what he needed before he lost his nerve. “Sometimes I can feel it. Where they stabbed me. Sometimes I can feel the edge of the knives driving into my chest as if they were trying to cut out my heart.” Sansa shuddered and Jon raised his arms to pull her closer into his chest. “It’s a feeling unimaginable. Like dying again and again.” He chuckled softly, mirthlessly. “But today, nearly losing you, I realised that you have captured my heart and to be without you, to be without it, is a feeling worse than death.” 

Taking a leap he feared he might not recover from, Jon pressed his lips firmly against hers. He allowed himself to consumed by her touch, to relinquish his hold on whatever part of his brain that had denied himself from her for so long. 

Sansa’s fingers gripped the collar of his tunic and she pressed her body more insistently against him. When they eventually pulled back, both breathing as hard as if they had been racing through the snow, Jon discovered a new smile. There in the soft curves of her lips was a joy he had not seen since before they left Winterfell but it was also shy and curious. Jon kissed her again, more wanting than the last, and delighted in the flush in her cheeks. It was then Jon decided he would spend the rest of his life discovering every way he could make her smile for him. 


	13. We Speak Only Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jonsa sharing a bed after his parentage is discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also old

Jon had not been seen in nearly a sennight. Their people were beginning to feel restless without him. They needed their King – and Sansa needed her Jon. But she was a Stark and she had a duty above all else. Between Ser Davros and her, they had managed to keep everyone occupied with preparing for winter’s more dire months. It was enough for the moment to disguise Jon’s absence as nothing more than the night shivers. An ailment that was frightening enough to have many of the people praying to the old Gods and the new for their king’s safe recovery but not so frightening that it made Winterfell vulnerable to those who might wish it harm. 

After the Bolton’s defeat, Sansa was thankful many of the northern houses had come to swear their allegiance to Jon, even if seeing the faces of those who had denied the same pledge to her true brother made the wolf inside snarl with bloodlust. Sansa was no longer a foolish girl; she knew what game needed playing in these times and she played it well. It was the only thing Petyr Baelish had ever taught her. Their allegiance was needed in these times, more so now with Jon’s absence, and Sansa smiled prettily for the lords who came to see him.

Sansa didn’t mind assuming responsibility at the throne. The constant work distracted her from what truly bothered her most, but by the sixth night, it became harder to ignore. She knew where he was, that had been easy to deduce by the third night, and she had kept the servants away. It was easy to claim grief as her reasoning, for it was grief that had kept her away from those chambers, but truly, it was for him. 

Since reuniting with Jon at Castle Black, Sansa had begun to realise a lot of what she did was for him. Her family was gone, her siblings, her mother, her father – everyone she had ever loved taken from her. Winterfell was her home but in its stony quiet walls, it hardly felt like it anymore. Her comfort, the only one she could draw from this life, was Jon. Her own life meant little to her now. What dreams and hopes Sanda had once had for the future gone the minute she stepped foot out of Winterfell all those years ago, but Jon… Oh, sweet, loving Jon. He could survive this winter. He could bring about peace to their people. He could reunite the north and find a wife; produce heirs and little Starklings that would run through the corridors of this once-great castle. 

Sansa, if she survived, would be married off and taken away from Winterfell once again. 

But the problem was, Sansa would rather die than leave Jon. She would rather face the White Walkers than see him married to someone else. To have little babes with his black hair and some other woman’s eyes – _that_  would kill her. 

The walk to his chamber was quiet. It was the hour of the bat and most safely slumbered in distant rooms. Sansa could remember once as a young girl walking down this same corridor with Robb holding her hand. Jon had become wracked with the fever and the adults had fretted over whether he’d survive the night. Robb wanted to see him and Sansa was too young to understand what it all meant. But she had never visited his chamber again after Mother had caught them. He became Bastard Jon after that. 

Tonight, Sansa couldn’t really say what he was to her anymore. Was he Jon her once-half-brother? Was he Jon her king? Somehow, none of that seemed to matter anymore. What he was mattered so little to her.

Sansa needn’t walk far. Although he may have incurred the wrath of Catelyn Stark, Jon’s chambers had never been far from their own. Father would never have allowed it. She could understand why he had come back here. 

Several seconds after she knocked, Sansa heard movement behind the door, before it opened just a few inches to reveal dark grey eyes looking back at her. His face was shadowed in darkness but she could find those eyes in a storm. “Jon…” 

“I need to be alone, Sansa.” His voice cracked from lack of use but it remained firm and rigid, far from what Sansa had come to know about the man. 

“You have been alone for nearly a sennight,” Sansa said. “You will let me in, Jon Snow, or I will send Ser Davros in my stead.” 

Sensing Sansa was serious, Jon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Another second, and he was pulling back the door to let her in.

Upon entering, Sansa found much of the room still in tact, which was a surprise considering the damage that had befallen Winterfell under Ramsay’s reign. But she supposed he had no use of the chambers of a bastard, even if he was one himself. When the door clicked shut behind her, Sansa turned around. Jon stood a couple feet away from her with his arms crossed over his chest. He was in his nightclothes and frowned at her. 

“Why have you come here?” Sansa asked, though she knew the answer. “You should be –” 

“– I do not deserve it.” 

“And I suppose you will wish to step down as Lord of Winterfell.” Sansa mirrored him and crossed her own arms over her chest. 

“I am not a Stark. Only a Stark should sit as lord.” Jon regarded her for another second and added, “or a lady.” 

Sansa crossed the space between him and placed her hands on his forearms. “If you step down then I shall decline it.” The furrow of his brows and flicker of exasperation in his eyes was more telling than what he could ever say. “Jon, you may not be Eddard Stark’s true son but he loved you as one. Is that not enough?”

“I doubt it will be to other houses, Sansa.” 

“Let them say what they will,” Sansa ground out. “But you have forgotten how loyal the people are to you. How the men would ride into battle for you without hesitation. You _are_  their king, whether you are a Stark or a Targaryen.” 

Jon turned his head at the name. He shook his head and backed away from her. “I am neither Stark nor Targaryen. I am a Snow. A bastard.”

“You will still be their king,” Sansa said again. She closed the gap between them once more and placed a hand to his cheek to turn him to face her. “And you will still be my king.” 

Jon appeared frozen under touch but before she could regret it, he began to soften and he leaned into her palm. “Sansa…” He closed his hand over hers and pulled it away to his side. “It is late. You shouldn’t be here.” 

Emboldened maybe the lateness of the hour or maybe by the way his thumb circled the skin on her wrist as he held her, Sansa had to speak her mind before she could think too much on the consequences. “For many moons, I thought the Gods were punishing me for making me feel this way…” 

“Sansa…” 

“I thought it was wrong,” she quickly continued, shutting her eyes and praying for strength. “You may see your name as a betrayal but I… don’t. I see it as my salvation.” 

She didn’t open her eyes lest she saw the horror, or worse, the disgust in his eyes. But she heard him sigh. She felt it, his hot breath fanning across her skin, and that made her wonder how close he was to her if she could feel that. 

“You will be the death of me, Sansa Stark.” 

Her eyes flew open only to flutter close a second later when his lips met hers in a rush to explain what she knew his words couldn’t. Where his eyes had once conveyed so much of what he couldn’t say, Sansa decided his lips were more expressive than if he had written her a song. They spoke of a world where death and heartache could not reach; a world where the sun shone in rays of golden light and where winter roses grew as far as the eye could see. In this world, there was no war; no politics to be played. There was just Jon. Her sweet, loving Jon. The man who made her feel so beautiful and safe; the man whose hands seared fire into her skin wherever he touched. 

Sansa fisted her hands into his tunic and tried to bring him closer, but her boldness stopped him altogether. Jon pulled way and smiled. It was so rare these days to see him smile like this but she knew he saved them for her. It made her heart swell so forcibly she thought it might explode inside her chest.

Jon fingered a tendril of her red hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I once loved a woman kissed by fire,” he said just barely above a whisper. “She died in my arms and I thought I would never know a pain as great as that.” Sansa’s heart stopped swelling and constricted tightly in pain. She wasn’t sure if it was for his loss or for her own jealousy over this unnamed woman. But Jon was speaking and she forced the pain away to listen. “But I thought I was going to die that day.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sansa, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to protect you like I promised I would and knowing what would happen to you next, how much you’d hurt – that pain was unbearable.” 

“Come to bed, Jon.” His eyes widened and Sansa smiled in return. She tugged him by the hand until they reached the bed. When she dropped it and slipped in, she knew what kind of risk they were taking here. If someone were to discover them, before the world could learn about his true parentage, both their reputations could be ruined. But as she lay in his bed, she found she didn’t care. 

Eventually, Jon’s inner battle ceased and he climbed into bed with her. Immediately, he pulled her into his side, burying his face into her hair. Nothing had ever felt more right in Sansa’s life than that moment. It was if all the pain and tragedy that had marred her life over the years was needed to lead her to him. She would always grieve for her family and wish to see their faces every day but she needed Jon in a way that surpassed reasoning or understanding.

Sansa turned her body so she faced him. She felt him adjust his hold around her waist and she sidled even closer so that their bodies were pressed together. A different kind of fire burned inside of her and Sansa did her best to tame it. “I love you,” she whispered.

Jon kissed her soundly, _slowly,_  so overwhelmingly that the fire burned even higher than it had before. When Sansa didn’t think she could take any more of it, he stopped and placed a small kiss to the hollow of her neck. Eventually, his breathing began to even out. Sansa thought he had fallen asleep, until finally, she heard, “I love you too.”


	14. In YouTube We Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is kind of YouTube famous and decides to vlog her family holiday for her viewers but her first video has unexpected results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the youtube au no one asked for lmao
> 
> p.s. feel free to gimme prompts on tumblr @ jonsasnow

The thing is Sansa didn’t mean to get into YouTube. She had aspirations of being a theatre actress, doing Shakespeare on the West End or something equally as prestigious, but one drunken night at uni, Sansa decides the world is in dire need of a video on how to do your makeup drunk. It’s not her proudest moment and she even uploaded it without any editing whatsoever, but somehow, by the time she woke up the next morning, she already had over 100,000 views. It’s utterly bizarre and – well, it’s kind of cool. Jeyne thinks it’s good exposure because it’s not like she can’t just quit YouTube if she wants, so she uploads a couple more videos. One of her doing the everyday beauty routine challenge and another drunk one where Jeyne and her drink wine and talk about fuckboys. By the end of the month, she’s kind of YouTube famous and life ceased to make sense anymore.

Her family at least thinks it’s hilarious. Robb constantly asks to appear in her videos and her views skyrocket each time because according to her fans, her brother is ‘ _so hot holy shit let him impregnate me_ ’, which is really, really disgusting. Occasionally Bran will join her if he’s visiting her at uni and they’ll just drink and review movies or shows together. The only two people who adamantly refuse to have anything to do with her channel are Arya and Rickon. Rickon’s still in that awkward teenage phase where hanging out with his older sister is uncool and Arya just scoffs at YouTube in general. But when the trend of vlogging starts taking off, Sansa decides to give it a try. She’s going on holiday with her family and a few of their friends, so it’s the perfect opportunity to test it out.

– although not everyone thinks so.

“Get that fucking camera out of my face, Sansa,” Arya spits out as they stand in the queue waiting to check in their luggage. Sansa sticks out her tongue and her sister rolls her eyes in exasperation. They’ve always had an antagonistic relationship, as sisters do, but it’s gotten worse with YouTube. Sansa doesn’t really know why but she doesn’t want to dwell on it either. Arya can be a cow so it’s probably just that.

Sansa turns the camera to Robb, who’s wearing a greying hoodie, sunglasses perched on his nose and an empty Starbucks cup in one hand. “Hungover, Robb?”

He looks up blearily, notices the camera and flashes a weak smile. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Looking directly at the camera, he adds, “listen, kids, if your best friend breaks up with his girlfriend and you think it’s a good idea to go cheer him up with a bottle of whiskey eight hours before flying, _don’t_.”

Arya, Bran and Rickon snicker, but Sansa is a little frozen with this new piece of knowledge. “Wait…” But she doesn’t get a chance to ask because Jeyne comes bounding forward with her hot pink suitcase rolling behind her.

“Morning, Starklings!” she greets brightly – to much groaning from her siblings. She plants a kiss on Sansa’s cheek and squishes Robb’s face between her hands. “Hi, sunshine. Saw your Instagram story last night. Looks like you and Jon had a _great_ time.”

“Story? What story?” Robb questions, rubbing his cheeks, before his eyes widen. “ _Noooo_ , I didn’t. Did I? Shit.”

“You did, you so very did,” Jeyne chirps, as she turns to the camera with a wave. “Our resident heartthrob here took our resident grump to a strip club.”

“What!” shouts all four Stark siblings, Sansa included.

Arya punches Robb in the shoulder. “Why would you do that to Jon? Does he _look_ like that would cheer him up? He’s not you or Theon.”

Her brother rubs his shoulder, glaring at Arya. “Drinking games weren’t working! And he didn’t want to talk about it so…” He shrugs sheepishly. “We were out of options.”

“That’s so like you, Robb,” Sansa says on a sigh. “Maybe you should’ve just left him alone.”

She doesn’t usually voice her opinions on any matter involving Jon – mostly because she doesn’t think she has a leg to stand on. They’re not friends, not in the way he is with Robb or Arya or even Bran and Rickon. Actually, she seems to be the only person he doesn’t get along with. But she _knows_ him. He’s Jon. He’s the guy who sat with her on her fifteenth birthday when she walked in on Joffrey making out with Margaery. He’s the guy that drove her home when she got drunk for the first time at seventeen and was too terrified to call Robb or her parents. He’s her grumpy knight in shining armour and she’s been in love with him for six years, so she knows him, probably better than Robb does, but of course no one knows that.

“Speak of the devil!” Arya exclaims as she walks quickly towards Jon, throwing her arms around his waist in a tight hug. He chuckles and wraps his arms around her. Sansa watches them whispering to one another, Arya rolling her eyes and then Jon ruffling her hair with fondness. It twists something inside of her that makes her shut the camera off and look away.

“Are you okay?” Jeyne says under her breath so only Sansa can hear.

She nods mutely, not wanting to say anything to betray how painful it’s always been to see Jon interact with her siblings, how effortless their friendships are and the stark contrast it is to how he is with her. She doesn’t need him to love her back, not in the way she loves him, but she can’t even have his friendship and that stings.

“Morning,” Jon greets as he reaches them with Arya tucked under his arm. “So I guess you’ve all heard.” They nod and there’s a round of commiserations. “Okay, good. Now that that’s done with, let’s not bring it up again.” His voice is teasing but there’s a sharpness to it that means Jon’s serious, so they all laugh and carry on, changing the topic to whether their flight will be delayed.

Theon’s the last to arrive, and thankfully by that point, the queue’s moved up enough that they only have to wait a further five minutes to check in. Her parents arrive back from their morning stroll around the airport just in time and soon they’re all heading to board the plane. There’s a scuffle as they near the gate as everyone’s looking at their tickets to see who they’re sitting with.

“Oh c’mon! Someone else sit next to him!”

“Awe, Jeyne, I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Piss off, Theon. I will stab you!”

“Jeyne, honey, it’s only a couple hours.”

“Yes, Mrs Stark.”

Sansa muffles her laugh behind her bag as she searches for her passport which she shoved down to the bottom as they went through security. Once she has it in her grasps, she pulls out the ticket and reads out, “26C.”

“Oh,” says a voice from behind her and Sansa quickly turns around. Jon’s looking at his ticket then back up at her, a faint smile on his lips. “26B. I guess we’re sitting together.”

“I guess so,” is all she can manage, as her whole body stiffens at the prospect of spending nearly three hours on a plane beside Jon. A _single_ Jon. It’s just all too much for Sansa to deal with this early in the morning. His hair is as unruly as ever, curling just over his forehead, and he’s wearing a thin black jumper that strain against his broad shoulders and a pair of dark-washed jeans. _Too much_. It’s too much.

Sansa grabs for Jeyne and tugs her forward, turning away from Jon. “I’ll sit with Theon.”

Her best friend’s face widens with joy and then suddenly pinches together as she frowns at Sansa. “Why would you –” She glances behind them where Jon is still standing, now rolling his eyes at whatever Robb is saying. “Oh no, _absolutely not_. You are not running away from him again.”

“Again?” Sansa cries out indignantly, catching the curious gaze of her father. “What are you talking about?” she hisses a little quieter.

“Um, remember when Robb and Jon came out with us that night in freshers?” Jeyne raises a brow and Sansa deflates because she does remember. “He was practically ready to propose to you.”

“He was _drunk_.”

“He couldn’t stop staring at you or smiling at you,” Jeyne says. “And then he asks you to go outside with him and you panic and run away.”

“I went to the bathroom!” Sansa whispers harshly, but she did panic. She had been so sure she would never be more than Robb’s little sister to Jon that when he had taken her hand and asked if she wanted to get some fresh air, she _panicked_.

“And what happened next, Sans?” Jeyne asks, voice a little gentler now.

Her heart breaks all over again as she leans her forehead against her friend’s shoulder, a resigned sigh escaping her lips. “He met Ygritte.”

“That’s right, he did, and guess what? They broke up and you’re not bloody running again,” Jeyne says as she pushes Sansa back upright. “You’re going to sit there and be charming and he’s going to fall in love with you all over again.”

“You’re delusional,” Sansa murmurs instead.

“No, I’m brilliant. Now, c’mon.”

The first hour actually passes by in near to complete silence. Sansa doesn’t know if she’s disappointed or relieved; she’s existing in the realm between both emotions and it’s making it really hard for her to sit still or sleep. Jon seems to be sleeping just fine, his face relaxed as he leans as far back as the chair will go. But as the second hour approaches, the man beside Jon, a terrifyingly large and bulky man with multiple tattoos winding up his arms and peeking from his cargo shorts, slumps his head onto Jon’s shoulder with a thump. He startles awake, wide-eyed and confused, and Sansa can’t help laughing at his expression and the situation he’s now in.

He groans quietly. “Of course this would happen to _me_.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Jon,” she says, nudging his shoulder with hers. “If only I was as lucky to have a handsome man resting on me.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow at her. “Then let’s trade seats.”

“But how could you wake him!” she whispers back, smiling brightly at him and forgetting for a moment that she’s still madly, desperately, stupidly in love with this man.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he says but his lips twitch and it’s adorable how hard he’s trying not to smile.

“I’m enjoying it just the right amount,” Sansa says before she’s reaching down for her bag and grabbing her camera, turning it on and recording. “Now I’m enjoying it too much.”

Jon eyes the camera and then glares at it. “Sansa,” he says warningly. “If this goes on the internet, I’m going to –”

“What?” she questions with an innocent smile. Sansa turns the camera onto herself. “He wouldn’t dare threaten this face, would he?” She gives a little pout, and in the background, she sees Jon cracking a fond smile as he reaches forward to tug at her loose plait.

“I’ll get you back for this.”

She focuses the camera back on him again. “Hmmm, no, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, _no_?”

“I mean no, Jon, you big puppy dog. I can outplay you,” she says still sweetly innocent. She’s enjoying this weird banter they have going on far more than she should because Jon _just_ broke up with his girlfriend and this is only going to end up with her getting her heart broken in the end. Only she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care so much she might as well repress whatever self-preserving brain cells she has left.

“Outplay me? I didn’t realise this was a game,” Jon says, amused.

“Life’s a game, Jon Snow,” she quips back, to which he actually laughs so loud the man leaning on him jumps awake. He stares at Jon and then at Sansa’s camera and yawns before leaning against the window and falling asleep once again.

Both Jon and Sansa stifle their laughter but it’s no use so Sansa does something wildly inappropriate and presses her face into Jon’s shoulder, muffling her giggles into his jumper. He doesn’t seem to mind or maybe he’s too busy trying not to laugh himself.

For a few seconds, Sansa just allows herself the comfort his warmth provides her before extricating herself once she realises her camera’s still recording. She turns it to face her and makes a face. “We’re going to hell.”

Jon nods in the background. “First class tickets.”

“At least I have you as company,” she says, smiling back at him, and he returns her smile.

When she passes out later at the hotel trying to edit the footage, the last thing Sansa expects is for it to be uploaded by the time she wakes up and for her to receive way more notifications than should be normal.

 **Aromanticbabex:** Okay but am I the only one who would still climb hungover Robb like a tree?

**1534 likes**

Sansa blanches. How is that the most liked comment? _Ew!_

 **Lyla Patel:** Sansa, you’re so pretty! I’m so glad you’re vlogging! Your videos always makes my days better!

**1045 likes**

A smile so wide blossoms on her face and she quickly replies, ‘ _Thank you, Lyla. I appreciate you and all my fans so much! Xxx’_

But then the comments sort of devolve from there and she really has no how idea how to handle any of it.

 **Al Nottellingu:** WHO IS THIS JON AND WHY HASN’T HE BEEN IN HER VIDEOS BEFORE?!!!!!!!

**893 likes**

**Lili Cho:** I CAN FEEL THE SEXUAL TENSION FROM HERE!!!

 **Roseand Tenforever:** I ship it! I ship it so hard!!

**Tom Hart:** I AM COINING JONSA AND NONE OF YOU CAN TELL ME ANY DIFFERENT!

 **Siobhan Hughes:** Ummmmmm why the fuck would anyone break up with a man who looks like THAT! Sansa, get in there, girl!

**679 likes**

Sansa slams her laptop shut and throws a pillow at Jeyne’s head. Her friend groans and rolls away from her. She throws a second pillow at her.

“WHAT!”

“Did you edit my video and upload it for me?” Sansa demands angrily. She slides out of bed to go and sit on top of Jeyne’s prone figure.

The girl huffs and tries to kick her legs out to dislodge Sansa. “I _thought_ I was being a good friend! You looked really tired!”

“But now the entire internet thinks me and Jon have something going on!”

Jeyne opens one eye to narrow it at Sansa. “Well, don’t you? You two were awfully cosy on that plane.”

“ _Jeyne_ ,” she groans, pinching her friend on the hip. “He just broke up with his girlfriend! What if Ygritte sees it?”

“Then _her_ bloody loss!” Jeyne suddenly thrashes wildly and Sansa ends up falling backwards onto the floor. A bruise is definitely going to form on her ass now. “Stop worrying about some girl you don’t even know and go after what you want, Sans.” She leans over the side of the bed to look down at her. “Look, I know Joffrey and Harry really screwed you over in the whole relationship department. And then after Ramsay, you’re kind of hesitant but we’ve known Jon since forever. He’s _good_ and decent.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, even though her whole body’s recoiled at the mention of Ramsay but she’s trying desperately not to dwell on those months in her life. “I know that. Of course I _know_ that. I’m the one in love with him, aren’t I?”

It’s hard to concentrate on having a good holiday when her mind is whirling with what Jeyne’s said. She doesn’t know _why_ she doesn’t just go for Jon aside from the courtesy of giving him a wide berth while he heals from his breakup, but that’s not even what’s making her hesitant. It’s much more convoluted than that. It’s being cheated on in both of her previous relationships. It’s being stalked by a classmate for three months until he’s finally arrested for something completely unrelated – since reporting a stalker who hasn’t _done_ anything means nothing to the police. It’s all of those things that make Sansa start to wonder maybe she shouldn’t be with anyone ever because everything she touches gets tainted one way or another and the last thing she’d want is to taint someone as pure as Jon. He’s the last _good_ man on this planet that’s not related to her. And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? He’s really, really good. He’s honourable and honest and so loyal. He’d _never_ cheat on his girlfriend. When he loves someone, she’s his whole world. Sansa saw the way he used to look at Ygritte, and although it had killed her to see him look at someone that way that wasn’t her, she was happy he’d found someone who made him that happy.

God, she hates love. She hates everything about it.

“Alright, sourpus, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Arya asks, slumping down into the beach chair beside her. She’s in a simple black bikini with a ball cap turned the wrong way around on her head. She has a bottle of some obscure Spanish beer in one hand.

Sansa shields her eyes from the sun to look at her sister. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re glaring at the ocean like it personally offended you,” Arya points out with a long drag from her beer. “Honestly, you’re in bloody _Spain_. What have you got to be so angry about?”

“I’m not angry, I’m just… thinking,” she says lamely as she watches Jeyne tackle Theon into the ocean while Robb looks on with an amused and somewhat impressed expression.

“ _Uhuh_ , well you should think less,” Arya says. “Because you’re on holiday. Thinking is for losers. C’mon, Sans, have some fun.”

Sansa sighs. “What do you care if I’m miserable or not?”

Her sister snorts and rolls her eyes. “I care. Hey, I do. Just because I think you’re a spoiled princess most of the time doesn’t mean I don’t care if you’re happy or not. You’re just annoying.”

“I don’t know if I should be comforted or insulted,” Sansa chuckles as she swipes the beer from Arya’s hand to take a sip. As soon as the liquid hits the back of her throat, she makes a face. “I forgot I hated beer.”

Her sister snatches the bottle back. “Good. More for me.” They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of them too busy watching their family and friends get into an all out war with each other. “Is this about Jon?”

Sansa’s head snaps to Arya so quickly she probably has whiplash now. “What?”

“He has no idea you fancy him, you know?” she says nonchalantly as if Sansa’s whole world hasn’t just been turned upside down. “Jon’s a bit of an idiot like that. Actually, both of you are idiots like that.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I mean _god_ , he fancied you for so long it was honestly super gross,” she continues. “When he started dating Ygritte, we were all like ‘what the fuck’ but also kind of glad he was moving on.”

“What do you mean ‘ _we_ ’ and what are you talking about!” Sansa is about to hit her sister out of sheer frustration.

Arya finally turns to look at Sansa and she’s wearing a long-suffering expression. “We as in the whole bloody family. Okay maybe except for Rickon. But everyone else kind of guessed it.” Her sister shrugs. “We didn’t think you were interested.”

“But I –”

“You’ve always been the type of person to keep your cards close to your chest,” Arya rattles on, cutting her off. “It was hard for any of us to tell.”

“So what changed?”

“Ygritte.” Her sister sighs and takes another pull from her beer. “When he started bringing her around, it was like – I don’t know. You just looked so _broken_.”

Sansa bites down hard on her lower lip but the memories come flooding back anyways.

The first time she saw Ygritte and Jon together was at her childhood home during Easter holidays. He’d brought her back with him from uni and it was just so obvious how smitten he was with her. Seeing him like that, so in love with someone else, had ripped out every wall she’d ever built around herself. It was like her mind had just given up trying to protect itself, like it didn’t care anymore what the rest of her did; it just wanted to succumb to its own self-pity and heartache. For days, Sansa had lived on autopilot. She smiled and made small talk but nothing could penetrate through the haze she was living in. Eventually, Jeyne had to come kidnap her and drive them back to uni early before Sansa completely fell apart.

The months that followed were the most agonising of her life. It feels melodramatic now to think it but Sansa couldn’t describe it in any other way. She knew even then how stupid it was to feel such a loss so acutely when Jon had never been hers to lose in the first place, but the petulant, childish part of her mind still screamed out that he _was_ hers. He was _her_ grump in shining armour and no one else’s. It was pathetic and she felt pathetic for thinking it.

“I hated her so much,” Sansa admits after a long silence. “I know that’s awful. I didn’t even know her but I just did. She was everything I wasn’t. Strong, smart, witty – it was like this realisation that I could try all my life to be like Ygritte but no one would ever look at me the way Jon looked at her.” She looks at her feet buried in the sand and says quietly, “because none of them would ever be him.”

Arya reaches out to grip Sansa’s hand. “You don’t just fancy him, do you?” She shakes her head. “You love him?” She nods. “Awe shit, Sans, then tell him.”

“I can’t. It’s not – he _just_ broke up with Ygritte. I’d be an asshole to dump all this on him now.”

“You’re an asshole for not telling him in the first place,” Arya says but she’s smiling softly at her. “I’m no Jon interpreter but there’s a good fucking chance he loved you too.”

That night Sansa can’t bear to be around her family as they mill around the hotel bar chatting and drinking. She has too much to think about so at the first opportunity – which is just when Robb and Theon decide to do a duet at the karaoke machine – she slips out onto the beach with the goal of just walking aimlessly for as long as she needs to clear her mind. As always, Sansa has her camera and she begins to record the ocean as it laps up onto the sand. It’s close to a full moon and the silver light reflects off of the murky surface of the water. It’s beautiful and romantic, and so of course, she feels lonely for the first time in a long time. Sansa’s normally okay being single. After the debacle with Harry and the incident with Ramsay, the thought of any man being near her made her queasy, but now all she wants is for someone to wrap her up in their arms and just hold her. It’s a silly thought, probably born out of all those Disney movies she used to watch as a kid, but it’s there anyways, niggling at the back of her mind as she walks down the beach.

The air is humid and makes her hair stick to the back of her neck but there’s a cool breeze coming from the ocean that eases the humidity. She’s nearing the edge of the hotel’s property when she hears someone call out her name. Sansa turns and squints against the darkness.

“You shouldn’t be walking out here alone,” he says, jogging up to her. “It’s not safe.”

“Jon,” she breathes out, her whole body instantly relaxing at the sight of him. “I was just… clearing my head.”

He nods, grey eyes watching her carefully, before his cheeks flush. “Your viewers seem to like me.”

“You watched it?” Sansa asks, a little incredulous. She turns the camera off and puts it back into her bag.

“I always watch your videos, Sans.” He sounds so casual but the pink flush spreading across his cheeks makes her think this is anything other than casual. It’s unfairly adorable.

“I didn’t… know that,” she says slowly, unsure of what else to say now. “I can take it down if you don’t want anyone to see. Jeyne edited it so I didn’t really get a final say before she uploaded the video.”

Jon shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

“Yeah,” Sansa says with a cheeky smile. “You and that man looked really good together on camera.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” she agrees, smiling even brighter.

“Figures,” he mumbles, chuckling softly. “You know... we looked good together too.”

“What?” Sansa’s heart all but stops. She’s not really sure what to say or what he’s implying.

Jon takes a couple steps closer to her till they’re only a foot apart. “I wish I knew,” he murmurs softly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted everyone’s time pretending I still didn’t care.”

“Jon, what are you talking about?”

“Do you want to know why Ygritte and I broke up?” he asks instead, which really annoys her, and if she isn’t already so close to coming completely undone she would kick him for being so cryptic.

“It started a couple months ago,” Jon continues when she doesn’t answer. He’s looking at her warily and it’s making her heart beat faster and faster. “Or maybe earlier, I don’t know. But when I found out what was happening to you with that Ramsay guy, I was just – it was all I could think about. Robb and I would spend hours researching what legal action you could take. We’d take turns driving past your flat and making sure you were safe. I was so worried out of my mind that I guess I just neglected Ygritte. And when she tried to bring it up, I snapped at her. I was furious that she couldn’t understand how important this was, how it was _you_.”

Sansa doesn’t really know anymore if she’s breathing. She wonders if she might’ve just wandered into the ocean and died because this is too surreal. This is Jon telling her she means as much to him as he means to her.

“Once Ramsay was arrested, I promised her I’d get better but it was like – for over a year, I was so sure I was in love with Ygritte. She was great in every way, but…” Jon pauses to glance towards the ocean. “The thought that someone could hurt you and take you away from me suddenly made me realise that I never did move on. And I think after awhile Ygritte figured that out too.”

He looks back at her then and takes her hand in his. “I don’t deserve you but I just need to know if there’s even a chance you feel the same way or if I completely misread the signs in that video and made a total prick of myself. If I did, I promise I’ll never bring this up again and we can go back to –”

Sansa cuts him off by pressing her lips against his. He freezes at first but then his hands go immediately around her and she’s wrapping her own arms around his neck, carding her fingers through his hair. It’s everything she ever wanted and so much more because it’s not just a kiss, it’s a confirmation that Jon really is hers and has always been hers and will forever be _hers_.

“God, I love you so much,” she admits quietly when they pull apart. “But you really are an idiot.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “And I’m sorry it took me this long to get here.”

“You’re here now,” she tells him, dropping a chaste kiss to his lips just because she can.

“I am… and for the record, I fucking love you too.”

++++

 **Aromanticbabex:** I can’t decide if I want to climb Robb or Jon like a tree. Maybe both together? Anyone else?

**2019 likes**

**Alison Lowe:** I would let them do ungodly things to me

**Superwholock:** You guys are gross (but if I had to choose, I’d choose Robb!)

**R0cket Racoon:** Uhhhh, are you serious? It’s Jon all the way!

**Sansa Stark:** Can you guys please stop trying to climb my brother and my boyfriend? (Also, Jon all the way indeed ;)) xxx

 **Wonder Starks:** I think I peed myself laughing watching Robb try to give Jon ‘The Talk’!!!

**1938 likes**

**Wonder Starks:** Also, how cute is Jon surprising Sansa with a holiday! I wish someone would fucking whisk me away from these exams! Where’s my grump in shining armour!

**Dasha Santos:** Seriously, where’s my fucking grump!!!1!@£@!$£!!!

 **Tom Hart:** JONSA IS REAL!!!!!! MY OTP ARE ON HOLIDAY TOGETHER!! I BETTER BE INVITED TO YOUR FUTURE WEDDING, SANSA! I TOTALLY COINED YOUR SHIP NAME!!

**1903 likes**

**Dani Johnson:** I’m not crying you’re crying!!! T_T

**2Slow Veryfurious:** This is the best Christmas present ever!!

**Arya Stark:** You guys need to get a fucking grip.

**Jeyne Poole:** Don’t be rude, Arya. This has been in the making for like seven years!! Do you know how tired I was of hearing her pine away for him?

**Robb Stark:** Ugh, do YOU GUYS know how tiring it was for ME to watch my best friend stare longingly at my baby sister? That’s way worse!

**Arya Stark:** That’s because you think Sansa and I are like 12

**Robb Stark:** But you are…

**Robb Stark:** Arya?

**Jeyne Poole:** I think she left, idiot.

**Robb Stark:** Oi, don’t call me an idiot or I won’t take you out on that date!

**Jeyne Poole:** I NEVER EVEN SAID YES!!

**Robb Stark:** The lady doth protest too much ;)

**Robb Stark:** Jeyne?

**Robb Stark:** Oh goddamnit.

**Tom Hart:** OH MY GOD! REYNE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	15. Who's That Girl?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'A Jon x Sansa New girl AU please !'

It was a Wednesday morning when Sansa walked in on Harry arse-naked on top of some blonde in their shared bed. At first, she’d just stood there, thinking about how _ugly_ Harry was and how _gross_ he looked in the throes of sex. Everything about it looked so mechanical and dull – and _god_ , if you’re going to cheat on your girlfriend who you just moved in with then at least throw it all away for a night (or rather morning) of passion. That’s why people cheat, right? They get so overwhelmed by sexual chemistry and something new that they can’t resist themselves, so what does it say about Sansa that her boyfriend of a year cheated on her for mediocre sex? 

She’s not sure and it’s better if she pretends she doesn’t know the answer to that question. 

“Sans? Where do you want this?” 

Her brother is studying her with his arms wrapped tightly around a box labeled ‘ _shit Sansa doesn’t need_ ’ courtesy of her little sister. 

“Um, just… anywhere is good. Thank you, Robb.” The smile she offers is faint and lacking any warmth, but it’s the best she can do considering she’s twenty-six-years-old and moving in with her brother and his two flatmates. She _loves_ Robb and there’s a part of her that still worships the ground he walks on, but she honestly does not want to live with him and his friends. Sansa was supposed to be getting her own space, settling down and being a grown up, only that all went crashing down around her when Harry decided to stick his prick in somewhere else. 

She grimaces at the thought and that catches Robb’s attention. 

“What?” 

“Harry was gross, wasn’t he?” she asks instead, looking around the room. It’s a decent size with two large windows to one side that faces another apartment complex. It’s not a great view, but the room is well-lit and she likes that. 

Her brother chuckles in surprise. “We’re just glad you didn’t catch anything.”

Sansa’s grimace grows and she throws a pillow at his head. “Ew, Robb. Don’t even joke about that!” She’s already been to the GP for a very thorough STI test, and _thankfully_ , she’s clean. She supposes the one good thing Harry has going for him is a healthy knowledge of sexual education and the follow-through to always wear a condom. 

“Sorry,” he laughs, putting both hands up in the universal sign of surrender, but when Sansa rolls her eyes, her brother moves towards her swiftly and wraps her in his signature bear hugs. “Hey, you’re better off without him, yeah? You’re way too good for a weasel like Harry.” 

“I know that,” she mumbles into his shirt. 

“I love you, Lemon.” 

“Love you too, Bacon,” she says, shaking her head at their stupid childhood nicknames. Lemon for her for the amount of lemon cakes she used to eat and Bacon for him for the amount of bacon he used to steal from everyone’s plates. In their defence, Sansa had been four and Robb seven. 

Once her brother leaves her new room, Sansa flops down on the bed with a heavy groan. She doesn’t know what’s more tragic – the fact that her boyfriend cheated on her or the fact that she doesn’t feel even a smidgen of heartbreak. 

+++

“THEON, GET THE HELL OUT!” 

“I’M SO SORRY I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HOME!” 

Sansa grabs for her towel and runs out into the living room where Robb is sitting on the L-shaped sofa with Jon playing some video game. Both are staring up at them with wide eyes, but she takes no notice of this. She’s too busy glaring daggers at the scrawny man before her. 

“How do you not – didn’t you hear the shower going!” She’s not screaming any more but she is still very close to killing him. 

“What? _Mate_ , did you fucking walk in on my sister showering?” Robb is now on his feet with a scowl on his face. Theon instinctively recoils back in fear, which really irks Sansa, because he should be more afraid of _her_. 

“I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident!” Theon says in a rush. He looks to Sansa and seems to be imploring her with his eyes. “Honest, Sansa! And if it makes you feel any better, you have a very lovely figure.” 

“Ugh, douchebag jar now!” she screeches in frustration, grabbing an empty can from the nearby table and hurling it at Theon’s head. He ducks in time but the physical action does make her feel a little better. “You guys need to fix that lock or I swear to god I will make your lives hell.” With that said, she storms back to the shower to finish rinsing out her hair. 

Day six of living with the boys is going disastrously. Not only has Theon seen her naked but she’s pretty sure she’s heard her brother having sex multiple times now, and if it happens again, she’s going to cut off her ears. 

+++

It’s Valentine’s Day and Sansa officially hates her life. Harry and her had plans to travel down to London and stay at a nice hotel. Of course now her Valentine’s Day consists of cocooning herself in a duvet while watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and drinking wine. It’s mean and petty but she’s fuming that everyone she knows has plans. Even Theon sodding Greyjoy has a date! How did that buffoon trick someone into going out with him is beyond her, but she supposes the silver lining is that she has the flat to herself. 

Bridget has just shown up to the garden party in a little bunny outfit when the door to the flat bursts open and Jon comes stumbling in decked out in his fireman uniform. He looks weary and exhausted, and it takes him several minutes to notice her. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have at all if she hadn’t shifted on the sofa causing the leather to squelch underneath her. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” he exclaims, jumping back in surprise. His curly hair is in such disarray and his eyes are so comically wide she has a hard time stifling the giggle rising up her throat. “I didn’t – I thought you’d be out or something.” 

Sansa arches a brow. “With _who_? My non-existent boyfriend or my illustrious ex?” 

Jon flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Right, sorry. I just thought you of all people would have a date.” 

“ _Me_ of all people? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

If it’s possible for a person to turn into a tomato, Jon is doing a very good job right now with that transformation. “Nothing. Um… Bridget Jones?” 

“You like Bridget Jones?” This is news to her. But then most of what she’s found out about Robb’s sullen best friend is news to her. “Didn’t peg you as the type.” 

He shrugs as he kicks off his shoes and drops down next to her. “It’s alright.” But thirty minutes later, Jon is completely gripped by the story. He’s laughing and shaking his head in time to each crazy or absurd thing Bridget does. It’s surprisingly endearing and Sansa finds herself watching him for the rest of the film instead. He has a very expressive face when it’s not wearing that grumpy mask he has on most of the time. 

“Why aren’t you on a date?” Sansa asks once the credits start rolling. 

Jon blinks at her, fingers clenching and unclenching around his coffee mug filled to the brim with red wine. “Don’t really feel like dating.” 

“Bad breakup?” she pushes, because she really _doesn’t_ know a thing about Jon and she should considering they’re now flatmates. He’s also the most sane one out of the three of them. 

“Does it count as a reason if it was over two years ago?” 

Sansa surprises herself by laughing at that. “Yeah, sure. If it was bad enough.” 

“Is my ex getting into a car accident, going into a coma for three months and waking up only to decide to travel the world without me bad enough?” he asks, and if it isn’t for the glimmer of a smile on his lips, Sansa would be horrified by that tale. 

She pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmm… I guess I can give you that one.” 

“You’re so gracious,” Jon says, chuckling. “So what was your bad breakup? Robb didn’t really tell us anything other than Harry is a twat and he’s going to gut him like a fish.” 

“Oh god,” she sighs. Robb really needs to get a grip on this overprotective brother thing. If she hears he actually tried to fight Harry, she’ll kill them both. “I think you have me beat on the bad breakup front but I think coming home to see your boyfriend breaking in your _new_ mattress with someone that’s not you is pretty rubbish.” 

“Ouch,” Jon says, as he reaches over to place a comforting hand over her own. His hand is big and warm, calloused but still soft enough to make her body shiver from the contact. “That is shit, Sansa. I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“It’s okay,” Sansa says automatically, before feeling emboldened by the wine to add, “but you know what’s the most screwed up part? I’m actually more upset about the mattress than I am about Harry. I mean – I _paid_ for half of that mattress and mattresses are expensive, Jon. They’re supposed to be an investment, right? Except now I’ll never be able to use it.” 

He shakes his head, smiling bemusedly at her. “You’ll buy a new mattress.” 

“But it was a really good mattress!” she whines. “It has one of those memory foam things.” 

“Oh jesus, yeah, that’s definitely a real loss,” Jon nods with a completely serious expression. “I’m sorry for your pain.” 

“Shut up.” She swats at him with one of the ends of the duvet. “You’re an asshole.” 

Jon grins, grabbing the remote from her and flicking through Netflix for something else to watch. “I hate to break it to you, Sans, but everyone in this flat is an asshole. Even you.” 

“Excuse me?” she cries out indignantly. 

“ _Uhuh_ , so you’re saying you’re not the one that threw all of Theon’s toiletries into the toilet? Or the one that keeps turning down the boiler so it’s practically the Arctic Circle in here?” 

“Well…” Sansa chews on her bottom lip as she hides behind her wine glass. “In my defence, Theon deserved it and – I like the cold.” 

“See,” Jon smirks now. “Asshole.” 

+++ 

Theon gets dumped by his girlfriend on a Friday. 

In the five months Sansa’s been living with them, Theon’s been with this girl for three of those months and he was actually _normal_. He only had to add to the douchebag jar every _other_ day as opposed to every day. They were even becoming sort of friends because apparently boyfriend-Theon likes to get Sansa’s opinion on how to dote on his girlfriend. It was cute, which was why when Theon comes home looking as broken as an abandoned puppy, Sansa is game with the boys to taking him out and getting him shitfaced drunk. 

She’s not much of a drinker herself. Sansa doesn’t like to lose control. As a Scottish woman from a very Scottish family, this is practically unheard of, but her mother is from a posh family in Oxford, who doesn’t believe in drinking in excess, so that’s probably where she gets it from. It works out in their little ragtag group because by ten-thirty, Theon and Robb are so drunk they’re swaying and stumbling into anyone in a ten-metre radius, and Sansa just knows she’s going to have to shove them in a taxi soon.

“ _Bitch_ ,” Jon slurs beside her. The two of them are leaning against a table, watching as the two idiots tell some wild joke to a group of girls, who look _way_ too young for them. 

“What?” 

He glances down at her for a brief second before returning his focus on the boys. “Theon’s ex. She was a bloody bitch.” 

“What actually happened?” Sansa asks. She doesn’t know the story and she’s too afraid to ask Theon in case he starts crying, because drunk Theon? She can handle that. Emotional and crying Theon? That’s out of her realm. 

Jon sighs and angles his body towards hers so he can lean in to speak more privately. 

It is incredibly unfair how attractive he is. Sansa shouldn’t even be thinking that he’s hot because he’s her flatmate, and over the past few months, Jon’s become something like a best friend to her. They spend most weekends together lying on the sofa watching Netflix and drinking wine. He’ll occasionally drop by the preschool she works at if it’s his day off to bring her lunch. And if he’s working late, Sansa will wait up for him just to make sure he’s home in one piece and there’s someone there for him to talk to if it’s a particularly gruesome fire. She doesn’t want to ruin that by something as stupid as _attraction_. 

“She told Theon that he spends an unreasonable amount of time with us,” Jon says lowly, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up her spine. “She actually told him that he shouldn’t have flatmates at his age and gave him an ultimatum to either move in with her or break up.” 

“He chose us?” Sansa’s voice wavers and she forgets all about Jon and his stupidly attractive face and body because she’s suddenly overcome with such affection for Theon. Yeah, he’s a bit perverse and has no brain-to-mouth filter, but he chose _them_. 

“Of course he chose us,” Jon says, looking at her incredulously. “Theon may be a prick most of the time but he’s loyal.” 

“He just gives off the impression that he’d drop us for the next best thing,” she admits with shame colouring her tone. 

To Jon’s credit, he chuckles and touches her shoulder gingerly. “I’m not saying he’s not an opportunistic twat or that he won’t screw us over one day but never intentionally.” 

That sounds _more_ like the Theon she knows, but even so, Sansa can’t find it in herself to really hate him for being that kind of person. It’s just who he is. With a father like Balon Greyjoy, it kind of makes sense for him to be the way he is, but Jon’s right. He _is_ good. Given the chance, he would do the right thing – which is exactly the moment Sansa spots his ex-girlfriend and anger curls deep in her chest. 

“Wait here,” she tells Jon and starts forward without waiting for a response. As Sansa gets closer and closer to Naiyla Rochelle, she starts to realise she doesn’t exactly have a plan. She wants to punch her but that probably isn’t going to help Theon any. She could tell her if she ever contacts Theon again, Sansa will have her killed and hide her body in the river or something, but that seems very extreme and hyperbolic. 

“ _Naiyla_ ,” she greets with a wide obviously fake smile. “It’s good to see you again.” 

The brunette startles at seeing Sansa but plasters on an equally fake smile. “Sansa, hi. How are you?” 

“Pretty great.” She’s at least a good foot taller than Naiyla so she uses her height to her advantage, straightening her limbs to appear more intimidating. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Theon. It’s such a shame. But I guess it worked in my favour, you know?” She smiles bashfully. “I’ve always had the _biggest_ crush on Theon.”

“Really, _you_?” Naiyla looks sceptical. 

“Are you kidding?” Sansa says with wide eyes. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, I admit, but when he cares about someone, he’s loyal till the very end. He’ll wade through _trash_ just to get back to the people he loves.” She glances behind her and waves in Theon’s general direction. “Oh, I have to run now. So nice to see you again. Have a good night, Naiyla.” 

When she saunters back to Jon, he has one brow arched and a bemused smile on his face. “What did you say to her? She looks ready to kill you.” 

Sansa smirks. “Nothing. I was the perfect lady.” 

“Yeah,” Jon smiles, fond. “I bet you were.” 

+++ 

Sansa goes away to a teacher convention for four days. It’s the longest she’s been apart from the boys in seven months and she really misses them. 

She misses the lazy afternoons with her brother sitting on the roof of their building. She misses Theon yelling and shouting at the football match as he simultaneously tries to explain to her what’s going on. She misses Jon and his hugs and how he always smells like smoke and something distinctly him. She misses the way he catches her eye across the breakfast table and gives her a small barely-there smile. God, it’s pathetic but she even misses the way he would argue with her about the best way to handle problems in the flat. 

When Sansa finally returns, it’s to an empty flat and she can’t help the kernel of disappointment from ricocheting around in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting a welcome back party but she did expect _something_. Dropping her suitcase in her room, Sansa immediately goes to take a shower because three hours on a bus has made her feel gross and sticky. But once she’s done, there’s still no one around. In fact, by the time Sansa finishes her dinner, she’s beginning to get a little worried about where everyone is. It’s a Sunday so they should all be home. None of them ever do anything on a Sunday. 

_**To Flat Fam** _

**_Sansa:_ ** _Where are you guys?_

Barely a minute goes by before she gets a response. 

_**Robb:** Ur home!? I thought u were getting back on the 10th! _

Sansa winces at her brother’s text speak. She hates text speak. 

_**Sansa:** It is the 10th! _

_**Robb:** Oh shit. Sorry Sans. Theon n I are in Manchester for the footy. We’re getting the late train back. Won’t be in till midnight. _

_**Sansa:** Okay. Where’s Jon? _

_**Robb:** Wait is he not in his room? _

_**Sansa:** No. _

Abruptly, her phone starts buzzing and it’s Robb ringing her. 

“Uh hello?”

“Okay, so don’t yell at us but we didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to worry you,” Robb greets without preamble. 

“What are you on about?” 

Her brother sighs heavily on the other end of the line. It’s a bit of a strain to hear him over the roaring crowd in the background. “So Jon, our resident idiot, got himself hurt during a house fire. He had a concussion, a couple of fractured ribs and he lost a lot of blood. He’s okay now but he’s supposed to be on house rest.” 

Sansa’s heart slows to a worrying pace. The very thought that she could’ve lost Jon and no one even thought to tell her is making her body shut down, like it just doesn’t know how to react. 

“He’s at the station,” Sansa says mechanically, working on autopilot now. “I have to go.” 

“Sansa, don’t –” 

But she’s already hung up and grabbed someone’s jumper from the back of a chair. Coincidentally, it’s Jon’s. His scent overwhelms her and she’s stuck between being furious with him and just wanting to bury her face in his chest so she can breathe him in and be sure he’s really there. 

It takes her nearly twenty minutes to reach the station. The entire time people have been giving her a wide berth as she stomps through town in Jon’s way too large jumper, her pyjama bottoms and the three-inch heeled boots she left lying by the front door. It’s probably not going to get her on any street style list but she’s glad for the space it’s providing her. 

When she enters the station, her eyes immediately zero in on one of Jon’s coworker. She’s met all of them several times now at house parties and pub nights, so she doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the shirt. 

“Where’s Jon?” Sansa demands. He shrinks from her glare. “Edd, I’m not kidding around. Where is he?” 

“Uh… upstairs. In the… um, office.” 

Unclenching her fist from around Edd’s shirt, Sansa continues to stomp her way upstairs until she sees the office and barges in. Jon jumps from his seat with a hand over his heart as he stares up at her. 

“Not one text!” Sansa shouts at him. “I didn’t get _one_ text from you this entire weekend. You know, at first, I thought to myself, ‘oh he’s probably busy,’ so I didn’t overthink it, but I just found out from Robb that you were in an accident?” He opens his mouth to reply but she cuts him off. “What if it was more serious? What if you had _died_? And the last thing we ever said to each other was just… I don’t know. I don’t even remember, Jon! I can’t even –” Her voice breaks and she realises belatedly she’s crying. “I can’t _remember_!” 

Jon’s up and out of his chair in seconds, cupping her face in between his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he murmurs between kisses to every inch of her cheeks. “But I’m here. I’m here and I’m alive and I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You can’t promise that,” Sansa points out, glaring at him even though she’s still crying. “No one can promise that.” 

“Okay, how about I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life however short or long it is talking to you every day?” Jon suggests with a faint smile. 

She shakes her head. “That’s silly. You don’t have to talk to me _every_ day.” 

“But I want to,” he says seriously. “I _want_ to talk to you all of the time. When I don’t, it’s like – nothing feels right, like I’m missing something.” He leans forward slowly to give her ample time to move away and kisses her. It’s barely there, just the soft press of lips, before he’s pulling back. “I’m so bloody in love with you, Sansa.”

Instead of responding, Sansa grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him back to her so she can show him just how much she loves him too, how no one’s opinion has ever meant more to her than his, how he can fix any bad day just by wrapping his arms around her and letting her cling onto him. 

When they’re lying in her bed later that night, Sansa rolls over, her cheek pressed into his bare chest and whispers, “I love you too, Jon.” 

+++

“You two are real cute and all but I do _not_ want to walk into my own home and be greeted by the sight of my best friend and my baby sister having sex.” 

Sansa untucks herself from Jon’s side so she can turn and roll her eyes at her brother. “We’re literally cuddling on the sofa fully clothed.” 

“Yeah, well, this is a PDA-free zone,” Robb huffs as he disappears into the kitchen with the groceries, while Theon walks up to the back of the sofa with an awkward smile on his face. 

“Uh Sans... Can I talk to you for a second?” 

She nods and then turns to Jon to see if he knows what’s going on but her boyfriend just shrugs. Sansa follows Theon out of the living room to the corridor. He looks even more uncomfortable now than he did before, which is really bizarre. She’s never seen him this awkward in her life. 

“I ran into Naiyla today,” Theon says. “ _Apparently_ , she thinks we’re together?” 

Sansa barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, I forgot all about that!” 

“What? What do you mean?” 

“Remember when we took you out after she broke up with you?” she asks, to which he nods. “I saw her there too and I might’ve told her I had a huge crush on you and insinuated she was a pile of trash.” Sansa shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry…” 

“Sorry?” Theon repeats and laughs loudly, drawing her into a hug. “Oh no, don’t ever fucking apologise for calling her trash! I mean that’s awesome. Thanks, Sans! I didn’t even know you liked me that much.” And in typical Theon fashion, he winks at her. 

“Don’t push it,” Sansa says, heaving a sigh. “I like you a small amount but I hate Naiyla more for what she did to you.” 

Theon sniggers. “Yeah, she’s a fucking bitch. Tried to get back together and everything.”

“ _No_ , really!” 

“Yeah, apparently she ‘missed me so much’,” Theon mocks and rolls his eyes. “Never again.” 

“I’m glad you’re over her,” she says emphatically, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Honestly, you can do way better.” 

“It _has_ been like, nearly a year since we broke up, Sans,” Theon says. “I’m ready to move on and whatever.” 

“Good! That’s really good. It took me awhile too after Harry but…” She glances back towards the living room to the sounds of Jon’s laughter. “It was worth it to go through all of that shit to get to him.” 

A rare genuine smile appears on Theon’s face and she almost wants to comment on it but his next words are even more surprising that she doesn’t get a chance.

“I’ve never seen either of you look so happy… but it’s not just that. It’s like you’re both finally at peace or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs a little bashfully, like he doesn’t want anyone to know he can actually have meaningful thoughts. “It’s nice to see, that’s all.” 

“Aww, Theon, you _do_ have feelings!” 

“Oh fuck off, Sansa.” 


	16. Coffees and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the coffeeshop au prompt with a twist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not too sure where this came from but l o l ?? :")

It’s a Monday morning when he stumbles into her coffee shop with a dark purpling bruise along his jawline and a white bandage covering the bridge of his nose. Sansa has seen a lot of strange people during the morning coffee rush – mostly disheveled and grumpy adults and occasionally the bleary-eyed student who hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours – but he’s certainly new. Sansa keeps him in her peripheral throughout the half hour he spends in her shop. She tries to tell herself it’s because he looks dodgy, but another part of her brain – the part that’s been single for over a year – traitorously tells her it’s because he’s got sinfully full lips. 

She doesn’t expect to see him again after he drags himself back out into the world, but Thursday morning, he wanders back in. This time, the bruise is mottled with various shades of green and yellow. The bandage is gone from his nose but there’s a deep scabbed over gash across it. He still looks like shit, but better. Sansa is itching to ask him what happened when he comes up to the register and orders a large black coffee. 

“Name?” she asks, pen poised over the coffee cup. He blinks back at her like he doesn’t understand her question and she has to refrain from laughing. “Your name. You _do_ have one, don’t you?” 

“Uh… my name,” he repeats slowly, but then his eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, it’s – uh, it’s Jon. Sorry,” he adds sheepishly, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck, but the action causes him to wince and he drops it by his side. _Interesting_ , Sansa can’t help but note to herself. 

She smiles softly, waves his apology off and writes Jon in her neatest cursive. 

It’s really hard to get him out of her head. Sansa even dreams of curly black hair, deep grey eyes and those unfairly tantalising lips. Men who look like him should _not_ have lips like that. It’s really cruel. 

Jon is back again on Monday, and this time, his bottom lip is split and there’s ugly red bruising around his left eye. Add all of that with last week’s previous injuries and he looks utterly terrifying. People in the queue, who are normally so tired they can barely muster up the energy to trudge forward, give him a wide berth, like they’re afraid he might suddenly focus his fury on them. But he doesn’t _look_ angry or violent. There’s a softness in his grey eyes and around the curve of his lips when he catches her eye and smiles. It makes Sansa refuse to believe it. She really shouldn’t be so quick to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, especially not after sweet-talking Joffrey turned out to be such an arrogant, horrible wanker, but something about Jon is different. 

When he reaches the register, Sansa gives him a slow once-over, which has him flushing from the neck to the tips of his ears. “How are you, Jon?” she asks, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him he looks like shit in case whatever’s happening is really bad nor does she want to outright ask him in case she’s wrong and he’s the bad thing that’s happening. 

Jon looks surprised that she remembers his name and flushes even more. “I’m okay. Um, tired. How are you…” He squints at her nametag, which is a bit mangled from her accidentally throwing it in the washing machine a couple months earlier. “Sorsa?” 

Surprising herself, she giggles at his poor attempt. “It’s Sansa. But close. Large black?”

He nods with a small smile.

When Jon shows up the following Monday with even _more_ injuries, Sansa decides she needs to do something subtle because she’s positive he’s not the type of guy to get into bar brawls on the weekends for the hell of it. If he fights someone, there has to be a good, _honourable_ reason for it. But in a distant part of her brain, she can hear her older brother chiding her for being so trusting of a man she barely knows, except Sansa _does_ know him. After last Monday, he came in every day of that week, sometimes in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoons, but he would always spend time just talking to her. He’s courteous and sweet, a little bit awkward and kind of horrible with women, but it’s endearing rather than annoying. There’s no way someone like Jon could ever be the instigator of a fight unless provoked. 

Jon returns again the next afternoon sporting his new injury – a slight limp – and Sansa asks Jeyne to cover for her as she grabs him by the forearm and drags him into the staff room. She sits him down and starts speaking without preamble. 

“I need to know if I should be worried about you or if I should be worried about me.” When he only blinks back at her dumbly, Sansa sighs in frustration. “Jon, I know you don’t really know me very well but if something bad is happening, I can… I don’t know. I can help you.” 

He inclines his head as if to study her, a mixture of bemusement and fondness on his face, and it kind of unsettles Sansa because she doesn’t really know how to handle that. No one’s ever looked at her like that before, not even Joffrey, and it’s hard to process that it’s coming from this virtual stranger. 

“You’re worried about me?” Jon questions, but when she answers his question with a scowl, he chuckles softly. “Sorry. I guess I look a bit worrying, don’t I?” 

“You could say that,” she deadpans, eyes roving over his injuries pointedly. 

Jon laughs. “Okay, so this is going to be really anticlimactic for you but I’m apart of an amateur fighting ring.” 

_Oh_.

“That was definitely not on my list.”

“What list?” he asks, smiling more broadly now, the amusement even more pronounced in those grey eyes. 

Sansa huffs. “I _might’ve_ made a list of all the possible reasons why you could be getting so frequently injured.” 

Jon laughs and the sound is bright and warm, which has the effect of making Sansa smile in return in spite of the reddening of her cheeks and her sudden need to run away. She instead opts for a subject change. “So you’re in a fight club?” 

“No,” he responds instantly, rolling his eyes slightly. “A fight club is just some asinine way for emotionally repressed guys to get their rocks off.” 

Sansa can’t help the smirk unfurling on her lips because this is clearly a sore subject for him. “ _Okay_ , so what’s the difference?” 

“I’m sponsored by a bar and I fight on the weekends for some extra cash,” Jon answers her. “It’s – yeah, it’s not ideal and you’re not the first person to come to me about it, but my mum died when I was seventeen and I needed the money.” 

“Wait, you’ve been doing this since you were seventeen? Is that – that doesn’t sound legal, Jon!” 

He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “So maybe I fibbed a bit about my age. I’m twenty-two now and I’ve only got a semester left of my degree so it’ll be over soon.”

She frowns slightly and reaches over to touch his hand. “That’s terrible. This shouldn’t be something you have to do just to afford university.” 

“It’s okay, Sansa,” Jon says, curling his hand over hers. “I’m pretty good.” He cracks a half-smile. “You should see the other guys.” 

She’s about to tell him off for the really poor joke when Jeyne pokes her head through the door. “Hate to break up the socially inept flirting you two do but Sans, I need you back out there. I’m _dying_.” 

Both Sansa and Jon flush from head to toe. He’s the first to reach the door after Jeyne disappears and Sansa is right behind him. But before she can slip through, Jon puts his hand out to block her in. “Um, you should – if you want that is, come see me this weekend?” 

Sansa scrunches up her nose in distaste. “I don’t know if I want to see you get beaten up, Jon.” 

His face falls for a moment and he removes his hand from the door frame. “Yeah, of course. That’s… That’s normal.” He gives her a faint smile and leaves her standing there for a few more seconds before she’s racing up to catch up to him.

“But I’ll go,” she quickly assures him. “Only the once, okay? I need to make sure you’re telling the truth after all.” 

Jon beams back at her and she considers going to every single match he has just to make him this happy – which she realises is an absurd thing to want for a man she hardly knows. 

“Great. I’ll text you the details!” 

And that’s how Jeyne and her find themselves standing in a smelly gym with loud, intimidating looking men and women, who are shouting and laughing boisterously. The stench of alcohol is everywhere and Sansa links her arm through Jeyne’s just to feel safer. “This is a bad idea,” she whispers. “This is a really bad idea. I don’t even _know_ him.” 

She can’t really see her as her eyes are focused on the people around them but she hears the exasperation in Jeyne’s voice and she can guess that her best friend is rolling her eyes. “Uhuh, but pining after him and worrying about him is also a really bad idea.”

“I wasn’t –” 

“Yeah, _okay_ , Sans,” Jeyne chuckles a bit sardonically. “You two were practically just making heart eyes at each other over the counter for three weeks straight. Please don’t insult my above average intelligence.” 

Sansa snorts and bumps her hip against Jeyne’s. “Your ego is unbecoming.” 

“Piss off.” 

The familiar bickering allows Sansa to forget for awhile where she is and why she’s actually here, but abruptly, a tinny voice cuts across the conversation, announcing the match will start in ten minutes. Sansa grips Jeyne even tighter as they near the front, staring at the weird metallic cage built around the boxing ring. 

“Uh, that’s not normal, is it?” 

“I thought you said he was a boxer.”

“He said he was a fighter but… cage fighting?” 

A burly man beside her whose copper hair could give hers a run for its money laughs loudly. “It’s MMA fighting, ladies.” 

“What is _that_?” Jeyne says with a mixture of apprehension and annoyance. 

“Mixed martial arts,” he answers, still smiling in amusement, but then his smile changes and she thinks he’s trying to look charming. “So if you don’t know what this is, what are two lovely girls such as yourselves doing here?” 

“Hey mate, back off,” Jeyne says with a scowl. “I’m taken.” She isn’t. “And this one here’s future baby daddy is one of those MMA fighters.” 

The man stares squarely at Sansa with such focus it really begins to unnerve her, but then just like before, he bursts out into a booming laugh. “Does that mean you’re Jon’s little coffee shop girl?” 

“I wouldn’t call myself little,” she says, bristling; although she realises a little belatedly that she doesn’t correct the man on his mistake that she’s somehow involved with Jon. 

“My apologies,” he says, but he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “I’m Tormund,” he continues, thrusting out a hand for her to shake, which she does with some wariness. “I’m his trainer. That prick hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks now. Bloody pathetic, honestly, but I can see why.” 

“Oh my god, _right?_ ” Jeyne exclaims, suddenly forgetting her previous irritation with this man. “She’s been the same way! You’re lucky though. You haven’t had to watch them flirt. It’s like watching a cat trying to swim.” 

Tormund laughs again but her glare cuts him off quite quickly. 

“Both of you shut it or I swear –” 

Her threat is rudely interrupted when the tinny voice returns, announcing the arrival of the two contenders. There’s a sudden increase in jeers and shouts. It’s a lot to take in, and a part of her wonders what on earth she’s doing here. Sansa is a _good_ girl. She works at a coffee shop so her parents don’t have to pay for her accommodation and living costs. She’s in her final year of Primary Education because she adores children. Her last two boyfriends were straight-laced boys from well-to-do families. She doesn’t do things like _this_.

But a small voice reminds her that both her exes also cheated on her so maybe straight-laced and well-to-do shouldn’t be categories she bases her next boyfriend on. Maybe a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who fights in a cage to put himself through school, is exactly what she should be looking for. 

Pushing down the nerves fluttering in her stomach, Sansa cranes her neck to watch as Jon is escorted into the ring. His upper torso is bare and it makes her mouth go dry. She’s only ever seen him in hoodies. She _knew_ he must have had a nice body considering how well his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, but to see it on display in front of her is quite frankly exhilarating in a way she’d _never_ tell Jeyne about. 

“Is your boy going to win?” Jeyne asks Tormund with a sceptical raise of her brow, voicing the question that’s been bouncing around in Sansa’s head all week. “Because that other dude looks like he could lift a car without breaking a sweat.”

She turns her head to catch sight of Jon’s opponent and her mouth gapes at the sheer size of him. _Oh god, he’s going to die_ , she instantly thinks, and a sudden wave of panic and nausea sweeps through her body. 

“Don’t be so quick to judge. He may look big but they are in the same weight class for a reason,” Tormund answers, smirking. This is basically gibberish to her because she doesn’t know what a weight class is, but when he adds, “Jon’s got moves,” Sansa is determined to believe him. 

Twenty minutes into the fight and Jon’s moves have gotten him knocked square in the face and another one in the stomach. He’s bleeding from his forehead, but his eyes are focused. It’s surreal to see this side of him. She may have only known him for a couple of weeks, but the Jon she met is sweet, shy and endearingly awkward. This Jon is anything but awkward. His movements are precise, lithe and calculated. Where the other man has size and power, Jon has speed and brains. He doesn’t just aim his punches anywhere. He knows exactly where he wants to hit, delivers it at the most opportune moment and capitalises quickly at the moment of contact. It’s the most riveting thing Sansa’s ever watched – and she’s been to _the_ _West End_ multiple times. 

“Your husband is amazing,” her friend whispers, awe in her voice.

Sansa rolls her eyes, even though there’s a small proud smile on her lips. “He’s not my husband. But yeah, yeah he’s great.”

Jeyne snorts, and thankfully, doesn’t say anything else, leaving her to watch the fight without interruption.

They’re nearing the end of the last round, which, Tormund explains, means that the judges will decide on the winner. She doesn’t know how _that_ works either because how can anyone tell who’s winning at this point? They both seem fairly matched; although Sansa completely thinks Jon is the better fighter. He’s graceful and makes it look like a real sport, whereas the other man makes it look like a bar brawl. 

Suddenly, Jon spins and delivers a kick to the man’s head, knocking him backwards onto the ground, where he swiftly begins to drive forward with punch after punch. The referee finally has to pull Jon away from the man, and then everyone’s screaming and trying to push forward. 

“Wait, what just happened!” Sansa yells to Tormund, who is one of those people trying to get forward. 

He looks back at Sansa, eyes taking her in as if for the first time and then his hand is around her wrist, pulling her with him. “Your boyfriend just won, Coffee Shop Girl. You should go say hi.” 

Sansa doesn’t get a chance to protest or even process what’s happening until Tormund is shouting to someone and she’s being dragged up onto the stage. Jon is getting cleaned up, but when he catches sight of her, he instantly jumps to his feet and sways rather violently from the sudden movement. Sansa races forward to catch him.

“Don’t move,” she chides, frowning at his goofy grin. “Are you concussed? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Jon steps back from her grasps with that strange smile still on his face. “You actually came.” 

“I told you I would,” she says, rolling her eyes, but her heart is beating a mile a minute. She doesn’t even know how someone could have this much of an effect on her. “Seriously, Jon, are you okay?” 

“And you’re worried about me,” he continues on, his smile growing wider and wider.

“Of course I’m worried! I saw you get punched in the head!” she half-shouts at him because now she’s a little frustrated and he’s being really, _really_ irritating. 

That wipes the smile instantly from his face as his hands go to her shoulders. “Sansa, I _am_ fine, you know? This isn’t really the worst that’s ever happened to me in the ring. I’m okay.” 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs. “You don’t look okay.” She gestures to his forehead where the blood’s dried. 

The smile he offers her now is more hesitant and shy and it reminds her of the Jon she knows from the coffee shop. “I’m sorry. I’m just really glad you came. I know you didn’t want to and this is probably not your scene but… it means a lot to me.” 

“It’s not,” Sansa agrees, smiling. “But you were amazing tonight.” 

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks flushed. 

“But Jon?” she presses on, swallowing the fear lodged inside her throat. “This is the last time I’m coming to one of these.” His face falls and she can’t help laughing softly. “Next time, just ask me out on a normal date, okay? Less bloody.” 

The relief on his face makes her heart swell with so much warmth and affection for this man. 

“Okay, next time, a normal date. I promise.” 

Sansa’s cheeks are aching from smiling so much, but she doesn’t care. This, right here with Jon, is perfect. Even with the crowd still screaming behind them; even with Jon bloodied and bruised and sweaty. Nothing matters but the fact that Jon is the first man to ever make her feel like she’s the only thing of actual importance in his world. It might not be true, but it _feels_ true. 

“What?” Jon asks, chuckling. “You’re the one staring at me this time.” 

Instead of answering, Sansa throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips firmly against his. He easily reciprocates by matching her movements and sliding his hands around her waist, gripping tight to her hips. When she scrapes her teeth against his lower lip, she feels him groan into her mouth, tugging her tightly until every part of her body is pressed into his. Sansa doesn’t quite know how long they stand there, but they both instantly jump apart as someone clears their throat pointedly at them. 

“As happy as I am that you two figured things out,” Jeyne begins. “Your husband’s trainer keeps hitting on me and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to kill him and I don’t think Jon would want that.” 

He stares at her best friend for a long moment. “Husband?”

“Ugh,” Sansa groans. “Don’t encourage her.” 


	17. This Ridiculous Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> assassin au

There were two factions to the League: spies and assassins. As the bastard son of a Targaryen, Jon had been expected to follow the path of spies. They are born from wealth and privilege, with exceptional good looks and charm that cannot be taught. It was the logical next step. But Jon hadn’t always been a Targaryen. He’d been a Snow first; poor and forgotten by the system. He grew up with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for going unseen. When his mother died and Rhaegar Targaryen showed up in his life, Jon immediately gravitated towards the assassins. They’re fighters. Spies are liars. He may live the life of a criminal, but assassins had a code of honour that Jon could respect. 

Unlike his half-siblings, who respect nothing, but themselves. 

“Brother,” Aegon greets, once he rounds the corner and spots Jon. His smile is tight-lipped, verging on a sneer, but to anyone else, it would appear polite, maybe even fond. Jon knows better. After seven years with the League, he can read the Targaryens like a book. 

Aegon comes to a stop in front of him. “You aren’t going to dinner dressed like _that_ , are you?” 

This is a conversation Jon’s had far too many times and one he is growing weary of. “I’m wearing what I always wear.” The League may see him as a Targaryen, but he’s a Snow through and through. They didn’t raise him. His mother did. 

“Yes, unfortunately I am all too aware of how you dress,” Aegon continues, his facade faltering to give way to a distasteful frown. “But tonight is important for the League. You surely own something… _better_.” 

Jon grits his teeth. Aegon knows the assassins live their life free from most material possessions. It’s in their culture to denounce them so that they won’t be swayed in the future by victims who try to bargain for their lives. He _knows_ this, yet he still treats Jon as poor and uncultured. It shouldn’t bother him; he’s used to being the bastard, but it does. 

“Leave Jon alone, Aegon,” Rhaenys interrupts just in time. Her long blonde hair is plaited down one side and she’s wearing a form-fitting red dress. “And go powder your nose.” 

Aegon huffs, but walks away nonetheless. Rhaenys is next in line to lead the League after Rhaegar dies and anything she says is law. Thankfully, his half-sister is much more tolerable, and she dislikes Aegon nearly as much as Jon. 

“My brother is a prick, isn’t he?” she sighs, before turning her gaze onto Jon. “But he is right, you have to change. I know father tailored you a tux.” 

He doesn’t try to hide his groan. He hates dressing up. 

Rhaenys looks at him with a bemused smirk. “You will grow to enjoy it eventually, Jon.” 

“I won’t have to.”

“You will,” she says. “Do you think the League will go to _Aegon_ if both father and I die?” She laughs loudly, the sound echoing in the narrow stone corridor. “Please; this place would be driven to ruins if it was up to that idiot. No, you will by my second-in-command once I take over.”

Jon blinks, unable to fully comprehend what she’s saying. It’s honestly the last thing he ever expected, which is why he blurts out the first thing to come to mind, “you don’t even like me.” 

His half-sister laughs again. “I don’t like anyone, Jon. Don’t take it personally.” With those last words, she leaves him, disappearing down another bend in the corridor. 

The League has become his home over the past seven years – from the dilapidated castle to the ragtag group of men and women he serves with. But he never thought he would one day have to lead this place. It had never been a dream of his. In fact, he doesn’t really know what he wants for the future. He doesn’t like to think about it often because it means facing who he is and what he’s done, and that person doesn’t deserve a future. 

Jon rubs his eyes and returns back to where he came from to change into the tux. He hates it – hates the way it feels like he’s suffocating from the falseness of it all – but whatever tonight is, he has to attend and pretend he’s much more charming than he is. Even Tormund is more appealing than Jon, but in a way that you’d watch a bear dance in a circus – with abject horror and fascination. 

The grand hall is decorated in golds and whites. The torches fastened to the stone walls flicker amber light across every corner of the room. Dinner is being served on a long table at the opposite end where Jon can see guests are already milling about chatting to one another. He’s been to his fair share of dinner parties over the years, but something about tonight feels more important. Aegon, for one, is actually smiling and joking with the people around him, and that’s always a sign of some impending doom.

“Jon!” his father booms, and suddenly several pairs of eyes are on him, as he begrudgingly makes his way over to Rhaegar and the group of people he’s with. “This is my son. He’s –”

“Lyanna’s boy,” someone finishes, a mixture of awe and bewilderment in his voice. Jon immediately glances towards the man, frowning as soon as he catches sight of dark hair and grey eyes. He knows those eyes. But how? 

“You knew my mother?” Jon asks without much preamble, to Rhaegar’s irritation, but he’s an assassin, not a spy. Charm is not really in his arsenal. 

“Once upon a time,” the man says sadly. “We grew up together. She was a dear friend to our family until –” He stops himself, glancing surreptitiously at Rhaegar, before smiling wide. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Eddard Stark, but you can call me Ned. This is my family.” 

He gestures to the people beside him, and suddenly Jon is very aware that they’re all staring at him with a mixture of fascination and wariness in their eyes. 

“This is my wife, Catelyn.” Wariness. “My sons, Robb, Rickon and Bran.” Fascination. “My youngest daughter, Arya.” Boredom. “And – oh, there she is. That’s my eldest daughter. _Sansa_ , come. This is Rhaegar’s son, Jon.” 

Her blue eyes catch his and she rakes her gaze down Jon’s body then back up again, making his neck and cheeks warm from the attention. Her lips are pursed in an impassive line, but Jon can read her too, and that was definitely appreciation. He wants to tell her, the feeling’s mutual, but all he can do is stare. 

“Ah, the infamous Sansa,” his father says when Jon doesn’t speak. “I hear you are back now from Paris.” 

She smiles; it’s soft and gentle, but something about it is off, and Jon doesn’t know why he thinks that, only that he’s positive he’s right. 

“I am, Mr Targaryen,” she affirms. “Three years away from my family is three years too long.” 

The younger sister, Arya, snorts, and one of the boys (he’s already forgotten which one’s which) elbows her none-too-subtly in the ribs. 

“Please, you must call me Rhaegar!” 

And so the night carries forward in this fashion. A lot of pleasantries and empty, meaningless words. Jon doesn’t get to speak to Sansa or the rest of the Starks, as he continues to be swept from one group to another by his father. He knows he doesn’t attend these functions often, so when he does, Rhaegar always takes the opportunity to show him off. It should offend him to be treated like a piece of property, but he knows it’s his father’s way of showing he’s proud of what Jon’s accomplished within the League. And it’s honestly so stupid to crave the approval of a man who had never been there for Jon during his childhood, but it’s hard not to let himself get swept up in it too. 

He has finally managed to extricate himself from a very handsy older woman, and slips away from the crowd to find refuge in the corner by the refreshments. He’s nursing his whiskey when someone sidles up beside him. 

“I hate these things.” 

Jon doesn’t turn, so much as he glances through his peripheral at the copper-haired woman in that sinfully tight emerald green dress. Her hair is swept up in one of those intricate updos and her lips are painted hot red. She looks like the type of person who would fit seamlessly into these kind of parties. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.” 

“I did once,” Sansa admits quietly, angling her body so she’s looking at him now. “Getting dressed up, being told you’re beautiful and dancing with handsome men? What girl wouldn’t like that?” She laughs a little sardonically. “I realised a while later that it’s all an illusion. False words for naive little girls.” 

“I can’t imagine you naive either.” 

“Then you’re pretty awful at reading people, Jon Targaryen,” she teases. “I thought spies were supposed to be observant.” 

He snorts before he can stop himself. “It’s Jon Snow. And I’m not a spy.” 

This surprises her and she furrows her brows as she studies him. “You’re not?” 

“I’m not…” He should probably try to impress her considering who she is and the kind of family she comes from, but the thought of lying to her doesn’t sit right either. “I don’t really like this. Any of it. Being dressed up and talking to people I don’t know.” 

Sansa giggles, and Jon’s heart stutters a little at the sound. “I couldn’t tell. So does that mean you’re...”

“An assassin,” he finishes for her, feeling his chest tighten in a different way. He normally never has to tell girls about what he does, but everyone in this room already knows, so there’s no point in lying about it.

“An assassin,” she repeats, taking her time to enunciate each syllable, as if she’s testing out the word on her tongue. “Does it not bother you to… you know?” 

Jon looks away. He can’t answer her question while looking in her earnest blue eyes, and it pains him to be who he is and stand next to someone as beautiful and innocent as her. “Most of us do. But it’s a cross we all bear.” 

“Why do you do it?” 

“Because we have to,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “The law doesn’t actually protect people anymore. If it ever did.”

Sansa nods, and then much to his own surprise, she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jon.” 

He wills his breathing to calm, as he says, “you don’t even know me.” 

“No, but I know people,” she tells him. “I know a good man from a bad man, and you’re good.” 

It’s hard for him to fully comprehend her words – harder even to really take her in – but he tries to. He so desperately wants to. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, giggling again when he takes her hand and leads her swiftly out of the grand hall. 

They race down the empty corridors, up the spiral staircase and stumble out, laughing, onto the roof. The air is frigid in spite of it being mid April, but the days are growing longer and at eight o’clock, the sky is dusky, streaks of pink and purple light disappearing into an endless canvas of navy. It’s beautiful. 

“Next time, you’re carrying me,” Sansa huffs from beside him, her fingers intertwined through his, but as he glances back, she’s smiling bright and wide, so different from the way she smiled at his father. This one is genuine; it’s real, and it takes his breath away that it’s because of him. 

“Am I now?” he says, grinning stupidly back at her. 

“Yes! You try running in heels, Jon Snow!” Sansa tries to look indignant, but when he tugs her closer, the smile returns. 

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells her without thinking. Once the words leave his mouth, he flushes. “I know you don’t place a lot of trust in those words anymore, but… God, you’re bloody beautiful, Sansa.” 

To his delight, she actually blushes and ducks her head. She’s adorable too, and that’s a dangerous combination. 

“Do you want to dance?” she asks instead, and he has to laugh this time, because they’re standing on a rooftop, freezing, alone and without music, but he has never wanted to dance with anyone more in his life. 

He wraps both arms around her waist. “I’d love to.” 

As soon as they start moving, Sansa’s head drops to his shoulder, fitting perfectly into the space between his neck and shoulder. He can feel her breath tickling his skin, and for once, Jon is happy to just _be_. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, each lost to their own thoughts, as they watch the sky slowly submerge them into darkness. But then Sansa shivers in his arms and he has to pull back to look at her face. “We should go inside.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get pneumonia.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to get pneumonia.” 

“Fine then I don’t want you to get sick,” he says, matching her exasperated tone.

“ _Jon_ , just shut up and kiss me.”

He freezes for a split second, watching as she raises a brow challengingly, before he comes back to himself and chuckles. When he finally kisses her, she responds instantly, tightening her arms around his neck as her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers from her touch and that makes Sansa smile against his lips. After they pull apart, they’re both breathing heavily and leaning into one another. 

“If I get pneumonia because of this, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sansa laughs. 

He is and she’s pretty much the reason why.

 


End file.
